"Why not?"
"Because I understand much that is evil. How can real innocence be so unworthily wise?"
"Innocence isn't goodness by a long shot!" said Aunt Hannah bluntly. "The good know—and refrain."
There was a silence; the elder woman in her black gown stood waiting, her head still obstinately averted. Suddenly she felt the girl's soft arms around her neck, quivered, caught her in a fierce embrace.
"I—I want you to care for Jim," faltered the girl. "I want you to know what he really is—the dearest and most generous of men. I want you to discover the real nobility in him. He is only a boy, as yet, Aunt Hannah. And he—he must not be—cruelly—punished."
When Aunt Hannah had marched out, still inclined to dab at her eyes, but deeply and thankfully happy, Jacqueline called up her husband at his office.
"Jim, dear," she said, "I have had a visit from Aunt Hannah. And she's terribly unhappy because she thinks you and I are; so I told her that we are not unhappy, and I scolded her for saying those outrageous things to you. And she took it so meekly, and—and she does really care for us—and—and I've made up with her. Was it disloyal to you to forgive her?"
"No," he said quietly. "What she said to me was the truth."
"I don't know what she said to you, dear. She didn't tell me. But I gathered from her that it was something intensely disagreeable. So don't ever tell me—because I might begin to dislike her again. And—it wasn't true, anyway. She knows that now. So—we will be friendly to her, won't we?"
"Of course. She adores you anyway——"