of you, Mamma . . . then it is not for me to object . . ."
She thought him almost cold; but he kissed her, said that he, whatever happened, would remain the child and the son of both of them, that he would love them both, equally . . .
But, because of that coldness, the shadow of a doubt suddenly crossed her mind; and it seemed as though her dreams grew dark and cloudy . . .
"Addie," she asked again, "tell me frankly, tell me honestly that I am right, that it will be a good thing . . . for Papa . . ."
"And for you? . . ."
"And for me," she echoed; and he saw her blush. "Or . . . or, Addie, my boy, my darling, is . . . is it all too late? Is it too late . . . for Papa's happiness?"
"And for yours too, you mean . . . Too late? Why should it be too late?"
She looked at him, thought him hard, but guessed that he was suffering more than he was willing to admit . . .
"I thought first . . . of Papa's happiness, Addie," she said, softly. "Because Papa has never been happy with me . . . with me who took everything from him and gave him nothing in return, I thought first of all . . . of Papa's happiness and afterwards . . . afterwards . . ."
"Afterwards . . . ?"
