The girl stared silently into her grandmother's face. Two bright spots were glowing in the withered cheeks, the old woman's eyes shot forth the fire of youth.
For the second time Katherine felt that the drawbridge was down. Impulsively, she took a step forward, grasping one of the little old hands, folding it tight in both her own.
"Grandmother, I want to tell you something—I see what you mean and—I know it's true. But—but—there's something else——"
Madam Crewe did not withdraw her hand. It almost seemed to Katherine as if its clasp tightened on hers.
"What else?"
"When he—when Dr. Ballard first spoke to me about his grandfather, he said, 'But after all, the only thing that really counts is character.' He said: 'One can afford to whistle at family-trees if one's own record is clean!' He said: 'After all, what's most important, is to be straight goods one's self. If I'd lied, or was a coward or had taken what belonged to some one else, or had any other dirty rag of memory trailing after me, I'd hesitate to ask any one to share my life with me, but——'"
"Well?"
"Grandmother—I've the kind of dirty rag of memory, he spoke about. I'm a coward—I've lied—I've taken what belonged to some one else."
CHAPTER XIII
Madam Crewe said nothing.