her face all white and contorted. "You can't say that! You can't mean it! It isn't true!"
"It's true, Naomi. I can't help myself. I wish to God I could!"
"And you didn't love me . . . even . . . even then?"
He made a heroic effort. "No . . . not even then."
She flung herself on the floor, pressing her face against the carpet, moaning and moaning. Kneeling down, he picked her up bodily and laid her on the sofa. Bending over her—
"Naomi . . . listen to me. It's not my fault. It's not yours. It's all a muddle. Nobody's to blame."
Then she sat up suddenly. "Yes, there is. It's your mother who's to blame. She made me marry you. It all began with that. I didn't want to . . . I didn't want to marry any one, but I wanted to have a mission of my own. She did it. She's to blame, and now she hates me. She thinks I've stolen you from her."
She buried her face in the cushions and lay sobbing. After a time, Philip said, "Naomi . . . listen to me. You didn't steal me from her."
"Who did then?" said Naomi's muffled voice.
"I don't know. It just happened. I suppose it's one of the things that happen in life. I've grown up now. I've grown up since we went to Megambo. That's all. I know my own mind now."
"Oh, you're hard, Philip . . . harder than flint." She sat up slowly. "I'll do anything for you. You can wipe your feet on me. I can't let you go now . . . I can't . . . I can't!" She began suddenly to laugh. "I'll do anything! I'll prove to you I can keep house as well as your mother. I'll show you how I can care
