“Poor mother, poor mother.”
“But I’m glad he married her, Cecily. It’s not so bad for him as the other thing would have been. I couldn’t have borne the other thing. I saw enough of that once. This shows at least that he has—conscience.”
Cecily stood, meditating harshly on a probable Della.
“Where did he meet her?”
“At some dance in the town. She seems to be just an ordinary girl. And of course I don’t know anything against her. We must think nothing. Probably she was only as foolish as many girls are nowadays. Your father thinks we must accept it and bring Walter and his wife home.”
“Walter didn’t say anything about this at Christmas time.”
“No. I don’t believe he contemplated anything of the sort then. It was sudden—as much so to him as to us, perhaps.”
“Mother, you seem so excusing, so tolerant! Do we just have to accept a situation like this? Can the girl expect to be treated like the wife of your son? This girl who let herself be compromised.”
Mrs. Warner gave again that queer impression of treating her trouble as if it had happened to some one else. In contrast to Cecily’s protest she drew back a little.
“She is your brother’s wife, Cecily.”