"I am afraid to look at you, my son. How is it with you?"
"I am all right, mother. How are things here?"
"Oh, don't speak of us! Did you get my letter?"
"This morning."
"And you read it, Willy?"
"Of course."
There was a silence. Mrs. Thorne clasped her son's arm and leaned her head
against it.
"I am sorry you worried so, mother."
"What does it matter about me?"
"I am sorry you took it so hard--because--I knew it all the time."
"You knew it! What do you mean?"
"A nice old lady told me. She was staying in the house. She cornered me and
told me a long story--the day after I met Miss Benedet."
"What an infamous old woman!"
"She called herself a friend of yours--warned me for your sake, she said,
and because she has sons of her own."
"Oh! Has she daughters?"
"Two--staying in the house."
"I see. She told it brutally, I suppose?"
"Quite so."
"Worse than I did, Willy?"
William the Silent held his peace.
"You did not believe it? How much of it did you believe?"
"Mother," he said, "do you think a man can't see what a girl is?"
"But what do you know about girls?"
"Where is she?"
"What!"
"Where is Helen? The man from Lord's said he brought her out here last
night.
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