He said it now with such conviction that Addie believed him absolutely. But the child still clasped his father to him, as though he would never let him go.
"Addie, how could you, how could you believe it for a moment?"
"But then why do people say it?"
"Because they are spiteful."
"But why do people say it?"
There was still a lurking suspicion in him. If he was not the son of an Italian, why did people talk about his parents' past, years ago, at Rome. And, though he believed Papa now, there was still much suspicion in him and he kept on saying to himself:
"But then why do people say it?..."
It tossed about in his mind, that there must be something that Papa was keeping back. But he believed, he wanted to believe Papa: yes, yes, he was Papa's child. And that was his great content, after the sorrow which he had suffered a whole day long: that he had not loved Papa for nothing, that he was the child of the man whom he loved....
"Addie!"
It was Constance calling from downstairs.