I have--I seem to
have that family trouble--like father's--that I spoke to you about
once." She managed a deprecatory little dry laugh. "Not that it
amounts to much, but I wasn't at all sure that it would be fair to
him. Marrying doesn't mean so much, after all--not at my age. It's
enough to know that--that people think of you--and to see them. I
thought we were all--oh, pretty happy the way things were, and I don't
think it would mean giving up a great deal for him or me, either, if
we just went on as we have been. I--I see him almost every day, and--"
"Mother!" George's voice was loud and stern. "Do you think you could
go on seeing him after this!"
She had been talking helplessly enough before; her tone was little
more broken now. "Not--not even--see him?"
"How could you?" George cried. "Mother, it seems to me that if he
ever set foot in this house again--oh! I can't speak of it! Could
you see him, knowing what talk it makes every time he turns into this
street, and knowing what that means to me? Oh, I don't understand all
this--I don't! If you'd told me, a year ago, that such things were
going to happen, I'd have thought you were insane--and now I believe I
am!"
Then, after a preliminary gesture of despair, as though he meant harm
to the ceiling, he flung himself heavily, face downward, upon the bed.
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