had her faults—terrible faults—but she loved him. Faults or no faults, he could not see life without her. No other woman had any attraction for him.
And she made him swear that he would not see Alice. He swore that oath too, for the sake of peace, but he had no intention of keeping it.
From the docks he went straight to Bartow-on-the-Sound. The rectory was a house of mourning. You might have thought that no mother and son had ever been closer or more deeply in each other's confidence, sympathy and trust than Dear Mother and John. The Reverend Mr. Eaton was more gentle and silent than ever. But his extraordinary black eyes had a haunted look. He took Edward in his arms and kissed him on both cheeks—just as if Edward had been a daughter. The young man was deeply affected and kept back his tears with difficulty.
And that night, after Dear Mother had gone to bed, he sat up late with his father and told him about Anne. It wasn't an easy telling at first, but as the Reverend Mr. Eaton made no comments, it became easier.
When Edward had finished, Mr. Eaton, who had been leaning attentively forward, leaned back and clasped his fine white hands over his right knee, swinging his right foot to and fro, and said:
