“Yes. I called her after your Ma. I always liked the name, and I always liked your Ma too, when she’s not having tantrums.”
Suddenly Philip wanted to laugh. The desire arose from a strange mixture of pain and mirth. It was ridiculous.
“The others are Jason, Henry, Hector and Bernice. It was Dora who named the others. Dora’s a wonderful woman ... like your Ma in a way, only Dora understands me.”
There was a long, sudden silence, in which Philip thought, “If I’d only done as he did, everything would have been all right. He’s happy and he’s been free ... always. I was weak and cowardly. I didn’t do one thing or the other, and now there’s no way out.”
“You see what I mean,” said Jason. “You’d have a home out there, and a family too. You wouldn’t be going alone into a new country.” He looked at his son wistfully. “You’d better come with me ... woman or no woman.”
“No, Pa ... I can’t. I’ve got to marry the woman, and I want to go to a new country ... alone.” His face was gray and drawn suddenly. “I’ve got to do it ... it’s the only thing.”
“You’d better think it over, Philip.”
“I’ve thought it over ... I’ve been doing nothing else.”
His father took up the tan derby. “And you won’t tell your Ma, will you?”
“I won’t tell her ... ever. You needn’t worry.”