"His heart's broke," she conceded, melting. "He's nothing with Maggie gone."
"His heart's broke, but that's not what beat him," her son stated with authority. "He was beat before."
"When?"
"He was beat," Neil stated deliberately, "when Everard moved to Green River."
This was a sweeping statement, but Neil did not qualify it. He dropped the subject and stood silent, turning absent eyes upon the green expanse of marshy field that had been the starting-place of all his dreams when he was a dream-struck, gazing boy. His mother's eyes followed his, growing cloudier and soft as if even now she could read them there.
"Rests your eyes," Neil said, after a minute; "looks pretty, too, in the sun. It's a pretty green. We'll drain it, perhaps, by the time I'm mayor or governor. It might pay. I'll be going now."
"Neil, when did you see her last?" asked his mother suddenly.
"See who?" he muttered, and then flushed, and straightened himself, and met her eyes bravely.
"I saw Judith yesterday," he said, "on Main Street, and—she cut me."
"Did she walk past you?"