He answered, wearily:
"Yes, I know, dear."
"You knew, and you let her go without a word—oh, St. Leon," she exclaimed, reproachfully.
The dark mustached lips parted in a slight sad smile.
"You wrong me, mother," he said: "I spoke to her. I claimed her and the child. She denied her identity, she laughed me to scorn. There was nothing more for me to say or do."
"You give her up like this—her and the heir to Eden?" she exclaimed, in dismay.
"There is nothing else to do—she denies my claim, and that ends all. I make no war upon women," he answered, sadly, but firmly.
Tears of bitter disappointment crowded to her eyes. She had so counted upon this reconciliation, so longed to have Laurel back—Laurel and the little child who was heir to Eden.
"And the child—will you give him up without a word?" she asked, in bitter disappointment. "You have every legal right to him."
"Granted—but do you think I could take him from Laurel? No, no, mother, she shall keep the little one. We will not disturb her. It may be some little atonement for that night, if we leave her in peace;" then, with a weary sigh, "Let us drop the subject, mother."