Both his listeners sympathized with him deeply. They could easily perceive how humiliating it would be to this proud man to make such a disclosure to his wife after having deceived her for more than a score of years; yet both knew that it was an act of justice which should be performed in order that Geoffrey might be acknowledged as a son and heir, and thus attain his proper position in the world.
“It is a painful story, too,” the colonel went on, “for Geoffrey. I loved your mother with all the strength of my nature—as a man loves but once in his life—and when I lost her the world became a blank to me, while even now it is almost more than I can bear to speak of it. I cannot tear the wound open and live over all that experience more than once, and if you do not object, I would like Mrs. Mapleson to be present while I make my confession.”
Mr. Huntress urged him to act according to his own wishes in the matter. As far as he was concerned Mrs. Mapleson’s presence would make no difference, unless the situation should prove to be too trying for her.
“She must know it within a few hours at the farthest, and it will also be necessary for her to meet you; so it might as well be done at once. What do you say, Geoffrey?” Colonel Mapleson asked, turning to his son.
“Do just what you think will be for the best, sir,” he replied; and his father immediately arose and left the room.
“Estelle,” he said, going into his wife’s boudoir, where she sat, handsome and stately, reading the latest magazine, “will you come down to the library for a little while. I have some callers to whom I wish to introduce you.”
Something unusual in her husband’s tone made Mrs. Mapleson drop her book and search his face.
He was white to his lips.
“Why, William, what ails you? Has anything happened to Everet?” she questioned, anxiously, her motherhood aroused for her child.
“Everet is well, so far as I know, but——”