“You made us lose the game, Mrs. Gwynne,” said Duckworth in a half-shamed manner, “and that is one reason why I came to see you again.”
“I?” exclaimed Mrs. Gwynne.
“Well, you quoted Scripture against us, and you know you can't stand up against Scripture and hope to win, can you?” said Duckworth with a laugh.
“Sit down here beside me, Mr. Duckworth,” she said, her eyes shining. “I won't pretend not to understand you;” she continued when he had taken his place beside her. “I can't tell you how proud I am of you.”
“Thank you,” said Duckworth. “I like to hear that. You see I never thought about it very much. I am not excusing myself.”
“No, I know you are not, but I heard about it, Mr. Duckworth. We all think so much of you. I am sure your mother is proud of you.”
Young Duckworth sat silent, his eyes fastened upon the ground.
“Please forgive me. Perhaps she is—no longer with you,” said Mrs. Gwynne softly, laying her hand upon his. Duckworth nodded, refusing to look at her and keeping his lips firmly pressed together. “I was wrong in what I said just now,” she continued. “She is with you still; she knows and follows all your doings, and I believe she is proud of you.”
Duckworth cleared his throat and said with an evident effort, “You made me think of her to-day, and I simply had to play up. I must go now. I must see the fellows.” He rose quickly to his feet.
“Come and see us, won't you?” said Mrs. Gwynne.