“Mother had a bitter time after you left us. She sold the Longstreet house but a smooth oil-stock salesman cheated her out of the money. At present she’s living with Edith.”
Johnathan turned to Madelaine.
“And among the things my son has told you,” he demanded, “did he include, perhaps, an account of the twenty-five years of hell I lived with his mother? For twenty-five years she was my trial and my cross. I couldn’t stand it finally. I had to get out. There was no other escape but flight. Human flesh and blood couldn’t stand it, I tell you! Wait till you get to know her. Then you’ll sympathize with me. There’s righteousness and justice in this world somewhere and the wicked get their deserts.”
Madelaine made no comment. The pause which ensued angered Johnathan.
“From the very night I was married,” he went on in a trifle higher tone, “the tussle began. Never once did she try to help me or stand back of me in my battle with the world. She nagged me and she fought me. She——”
“Possibly, Mr. Forge,” interrupted Madelaine. “But why tell me about it?”
“You’re marrying into the family, ain’t you? There’s—things—which you should know.”
“I’m merely marrying Nathan,” responded Madelaine.
The interview was going badly. Great tears continued to roll down Johnathan’s face and he blew his nose again and again.
“What business are you in, Natie?” he finally asked. He was an injured man. There was not a doubt about it. All the world had it in for him.