“You mean—” Baron was surprised that his suggestion had been received with a dully uttered, enigmatic remark, rather than gratitude or eagerness.
“You don’t know what I mean by that?” There was regret in her tone, reluctance in her glance—as if she knew he was not dealing honestly and frankly by her.
“No, truly, I don’t.”
“Ah, well.... But I wanted to tell you why I was so eager to have her when you called before. You see, I wanted to—to atone....”
She sat listlessly, lost in troubled memories, and Baron waited.
“Mr. Thornburg came to me one time, in the one moment of his greatest need, and asked me to help him. And I failed him.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment, and Baron thought how out of harmony she was: the ailing woman whose whole being was in a minor key, amid surroundings which suggested only sturdiness and well-being.
“He was always generous toward me, and patient. He was always giving, giving, and never asking. I think I got used to that and just took it for granted. And then one day he came home, excited, as happy as a child ... and asked me.... It was such a little thing ... and I refused.
“You know, he had been married when I first met him. An actress. It didn’t last long. She got tired of the life and wanted to go back to the stage. I think she appealed to his generosity. It would have been easy to do that. At any rate, he allowed her to go away and take their little girl. I can’t understand how he brought himself to let the little daughter go, too. I have an idea he was so troubled because she wanted to go that he didn’t realize how much the child meant to him, or would come to mean. She was only a year old then. I never blamed him for that episode in his life. I just concluded that the woman was worthless. And when I married him we didn’t speak of his other marriage—nothing in connection with it. It was just as if it hadn’t happened. Then, after a year, or about a year, he—he made the one request of me. The mother had offered to give him the little girl. He wanted to bring her to me, to have her in our home.
“And that made me jealous and unhappy. I can’t explain ... or defend myself. I could scarcely answer him when he spoke about it. And when I didn’t answer he looked at me, and after a little a strange expression came into his eyes. He was chilled and bewildered. He had been so happy. He couldn’t understand. He just gave it up, and the next day he was trying to pretend that nothing had come between us; that I hadn’t been ungracious and cruel.