A slight quiver came over Mrs. Harwood’s face.
“What I did I did for the best. One may be mistaken, but I thought it best for you all,” she said.
“And I think Mrs. Harwood has had enough agitation for one night,” said Meredith.
“You have nothing to do with it!” said Dolff, wildly, “you—what have you to do with our family? What right have you with our secrets?—since we have secrets,” the young man added, in a tone of despair.
And Meredith fixed his laughing eyes upon Dolff. He could laugh, however serious the circumstances might be.
“There are some secrets,” he said, “which are supposed to be quite safe with me—which it might be awkward for other people were I to let escape.”
He looked Dolff full in the eyes, and his laugh drove the young man almost to frenzy. But at the same time it recalled him to himself. He dared not meet Meredith’s laughing eyes. As long as they should both live this fellow would have him at a disadvantage. Dolff drew back with a mortification and humiliation which were unspeakable. He had no longer the courage to question his mother, to assert his own rights. He had the right to know everything, to be the first to be consulted in his own house. But that look was enough to silence him, to drive him back. Oh, that he should have put such power into another’s hand! And for what? For whom?
“If it will be any satisfaction to you, Dolff,” said Gussy, “I knew all the time—at least, I have known for a year or two. Mamma told me, just as she has told you, that he was—afflicted soon after Ju was born, and that she knew they would not let her keep him if it was known. So it was said he had died abroad, where he was for a little while. Is that so, mamma?”
“You are quite right, my dear,” said Mrs. Harwood, who had quite recovered her composure. “But with this in addition: that the news came of his death, and that I had got my widow’s mourning and everything was settled, when I found out that we had been mistaken. Vicars had gone with him, and Vicars brought him back. He sent me a letter to say that your father was not dead, but afflicted, and that he was bringing him back. I could not tell what to do. I did not want to let anybody know.”
“Why?” said Dolff, who had plucked up a little courage. This time Gussy and Julia both stood by him. They looked at their mother, the three faces together, all so much alike, lit up with the same sentiment. “Why did you make a mystery of it?” said Dolff. “Would it not have been easier if everything had been frank and above-board?”