“Morris is coming up this morning. He said eleven, and he’s usually on time. That’s one of the good things about Morris. He keeps his appointments!”
“I imagine he would. Uncle Rodney, I’m going to ask you something. It may seem a little queer, but everything in the world is a little queer. Did you ever know—was there anything,”—it was the sob again and she frowned hard in an effort to keep back the tears—“I mean about mother—and Mr. Leighton’s father?”
The blood mounted again to the old man’s cheek, and he bent toward her angrily.
“Did he throw that at you? Did Ezra Dameron, after all your mother suffered from him, insult you with that?”
“Please don’t! Please don’t!” and she thrust a hand toward him appealingly. “I used to see the word past in books and it meant nothing to me. But now it seems that life isn’t to-day at all; it’s just a lot of yesterdays!”
The old man walked to the window and back.
“It was your mother’s mistake; but it must not follow you. When did your father tell you this?”
“Yesterday,—last night. I had provoked him. It is all so hideous, please never ask me about it—what happened at the house—but he told me about that.”
“He’s a greater dog than I thought he was; and now he has thrown himself on your mercy! I’ve a good mind to say that we won’t help him. Morris’s father was a gentleman and a scholar; and Morris is the finest fellow in the world.”
“Yes; but please don’t scold! It won’t help me any.”