"No; and none of the family knew it—you know what Cale said. He gave me the details for the first time."
"You do not know, then, that I have in my possession some papers that might give the name?"
"Yes; I know that. But I told Delia Beaseley not to mention that fact to you, or the papers in any way."
"Why?"
"Why?"
I think all the bitterness of my past must have been concentrated in the tone in which I uttered that syllable. He did not press for the reason, and I did not offer to give it.
"Did it ever occur to you that your father might be living?"
"I have no father, living or dead," I replied passionately. "I own to no such possession. Does a man, simply because he chooses to pursue his pleasure, unmindful of results, acquire the right to fatherhood when he assumes no responsibility for his act?"
"Marcia, poor child, has life been so hard for you? Has nothing compensated for just living?"
He knew he was searching my very soul. I knew it; and the thought of my joy in life, in just living, because of my love that was filling every minute of the day and part of the night with a happiness so intense that, sometimes, I feared it could not endure from its sheer intensity, brought the tears to my eyes, softened my heart, turned for the moment the bitter to sweet.