"Mother!"
There was no doubt about the man's dismay. He stood there hardly daring to believe his senses. His mother was going to be married after—after——
"But, mother, you don't mean that? You're not serious," he cried, his ingenious face flushed, his whole look incredulous.
Something of the woman's resentment against the unworthy part that had been forced upon her suddenly found expression.
"Yes, I mean it," she cried sharply. "Of course I mean it. I am in no mood to trifle. Why else should I have sent for you now to tell you the miserable story you have just listened to, unless it were that my coming marriage made it imperative?"
The flush deepened upon the man's face.
"But you can't," he cried, with sudden vehemence. "You daren't! Oh, mother, you must be mad to think of marriage now—I mean with—with my existence to be accounted for."
"That's just why I have sent for you."
Monica sprang from her seat and ran to him. She reached up, and placed both hands upon his shoulders and gazed pleadingly into his face.
"Don't fail me, Frank. Don't fail me," she cried, all her woman's heart stirred to a dreadful fear lest, after all, she should lose the happiness she was striving for, had lied for, was ready to do almost anything for. "You don't know what it means to me. How can you? You are only a boy. It means everything. Yes, it means my life. Oh, Frank, think of all the years I have gone through without a home, without any of those things which a woman has a right to, except what I have earned for myself with my own two hands. Think of the loveless life I have been forced to live for all these years. Frank, Frank, I have given up everything in the world for you, and now—now I love this man—I love him with my whole soul."