“Wilfrid, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen yet—your mother. No wonder you can’t leave her.”
“It isn’t that altogether. I mean we’re tied here because we can’t afford to leave; and because I’ve got this organ job. I should never have had it anywhere else.” He paused. “And you know, I couldn’t live on it—without mother. She’s got the house.”
Effie said nothing.
“So here I am. Thirty-five and still dependent on my mother.”
“Oh, Wilfrid, what will you do when—when—”
“When my mother dies? That’s the awful thing. I shall have enough then. There’ll be the house and her income. I hate to think of it. I don’t think of it—”
“You see,” he went on, “when I was a kid I was so seedy they didn’t think I’d live. So I was brought up to do nothing. Nothing but my playing. They gave me this job just to keep me quiet. And now I’m strong enough, but there’s nothing else I can do.”
He hung his head, frowning gloomily.
“You know why I’m telling you all this?”
“No. But I’m glad you’ve told me.”