"Why do you say that? What doubts had he?"
He hesitated; as if he searched for words; then again came that wry smile of his.
"Miss Gilbert, it's not a pretty story I have to tell you; and it may sound uglier than it might be made because, circumstanced as we are, I am hardly in a position to pick and choose my phrases. Time is short; I must get to the end of my tale by the shortest way. I don't know who your mysterious friend who sent us here may be; but if, as he said he was, he is coming here, he may come soon. And since, when he does come, circumstances may arise which will render it difficult for me to communicate with you on confidential matters, it would be well if what I have to say to you were said quickly. So, if my story sounds even less pleasant than it need do, will you forgive me--since time presses?"
"Of course I will forgive you--you know I will."
"Thank you; I believe I do know it. I wondered what sort of person I should find you; but now, I think that, if the Fates had been more propitious, I might have been your friend, as I was your father's." She said nothing, but her lips quivered; something flashed from her eyes to his. "Won't you sit down? Compress it as I may, my story will take some minutes; as I said, it's not a very pretty one; and--you look tired."
"I would rather stand; I couldn't sit still; I find it so hard to sit still. Tell me about my mother."
"Your mother? I'm afraid I haven't much to tell you about your mother; my story is chiefly about your father. You see, there's disappointment number one. I take it that your knowledge of this funny world is not a very wide one; I fancy you don't see much of it in a convent; so what I'm going to tell you may sound very strange--to you; but it isn't: it's quite commonplace. It's a story which will be told over and over again, with variations--and even the variations are not new--until the crack of doom. Your mother and father were very much in love with each other, before they were married, and when they married; but soon after they were married they quarrelled. Not long before you were born they separated, never to meet again."
"Poor mother!"
"Yes; you may well say it--Fortune used her ill. She died in giving you birth."
"Mother!" This time there was no prefix; the superlative was expressed without it. Then she added: "What father must have felt!"