"Married, my dear. He did not tell me until—last night. He wanted me to be happy—as long as I could. He's a dear boy, Becky—but—he's married——" She went on presently with an effort. "He has been married over two years—and, Becky—he has married—Mary Flippin."
"Aunt Claudia——"
"He married her in Petersburg—before he went to France with the first ambulance corps. They decided not to tell anyone. Mary took Truxton's middle name. When the baby came, Truxton was wild to write us, but Mary—wouldn't. She felt if he was here when it was told that we would forgive him—— If anything—happened to him—she didn't want him to die feeling that we had—blamed him—— I must say that Mary—was wise—but—to think that my son has married—Mary Flippin."
"Mary's a dear," said Becky stoutly.
"Yes," Aunt Claudia agreed, "but not a wife for my son. I had such hopes for him, Becky. He could have married anybody."
Becky knew the kind of woman that Aunt Claudia had wanted Truxton to marry—one whose ancestors were like those whose portraits hung in the hall at Huntersfield—a woman with a high-held head—a woman whose family traditions paralleled those of the Bannisters and Beauforts.
"Then Fiddle is Truxton's child."
"And I am a grandmother, Becky. Mrs. Flippin and I are grandmothers——" She said it with a sort of bitter mirth.
"What did Grandfather say?"