“What was it?”
“That old scandal has cropped up again—the slander I thought buried forever.”
“I do not understand you, mother;” but his handsome face grew pale.
“Mrs. Bentley has just been here, Norman. You know her son is madly in love with Thea West. He wishes to propose for her hand in marriage.”
“And asks for our consent first, good boy,” Norman said, with a ghastly smile.
“Why, it is not exactly that. He can not get his father’s consent until—until—” she faltered, and paused.
“What?” he asked, sharply.
“Until certain scandals have been cleared up—old scandals we thought dead, Norman. So Mrs. Bentley came herself to me. She is anxious Cameron should have Thea if everything is all right.”
“Well, what is wrong about it?” he asked, with bitter impatience.
“You remember poor Camille’s jealous charge, Norman—her ridiculous suspicion that Thea West was your own child? The malicious story has been revived with cruel additions. Anonymous letters have been circulated in Jacksonville, asserting the same story. Thea is declared to be your own illegitimate daughter, her mother a circus performer—a bareback rider—in a low hippodrome.”