"He lived a lie, my dear."

"Lived a lie? I don't understand how anybody can do that. Didn't he love you?"

"Once, perhaps, but the love of some men is as variable as the wind, blowing in many directions."

"But how could he tell you he loved you if he didn't?"

"My dear, men tell women many things that aren't true."

"I don't like to know that." She ceased churning again and thoughtfully leaned upon the dasher. Suddenly she looked up and then came the question: "And did they put yo' husband in jail?"

"Oh, no."

"What did they do with him?"

"His friends shrugged their shoulders, laughed and—forgave him."

"And didn't yo' friends try to kill him?"