“No, not then.... It seemed to be an overwhelming 314 need for service and adoration.... It’s strange how faiths change though need remains.”
“You still feel that need?”
“Of course,” said the girl simply.
“I see. Your clubs and other service give you what you require to satisfy you and make you happy and contented.”
As Palla made no reply, Helen glanced at her askance; and caught a fleeting glimpse of tragedy in this girl’s still face––the face of a cloistered nun burnt white––purged utterly of all save the mystic passion of the spirit.
The face altered immediately, and colour came into it; and her slender hands were steady as she turned her bandage and cut off the thread.
What thoughts concerning this girl were in her mind, Helen could neither entirely comprehend nor analyse. At moments a hot hatred for the girl passed over her like flame––anger because of what she was doing to her only son.
For Jim had changed; and it was love for this woman that had changed him––which had made of him the silent, listless man whose grey face haunted his mother’s dreams.
That he, dissipating all her hopes of him, had fallen in love with Palla Dumont was enough unhappiness, it seemed; but that this girl should have found it possible to refuse him––that seemed to Helen a monstrous thing.
And even were Jim able to forget the girl and free himself from this exasperating unhappiness which almost maddened his mother, still she must always afterward remember with bitterness the girl who had rejected her only son.