He never called
any one else that. He was wild with happiness until he went to
college. He came back all changed; and life has been uphill with
him ever since. Lately things have grown worse. The other day I
was working on the plan of our house; he came in and looked over my
shoulder: 'Don't build, Dent,' he said, 'bring your wife here,' and
he walked quickly out of the room. I knew what that meant: he has
been unfortunate in his love affair and is ready to throw up the
whole idea of marrying. This is our trouble, Pansy. It may
explain anything that may have been lacking in my mother's
treatment of you; she is not herself at all." He spoke with great
tenderness and he looked disturbed.
"Can I do anything?" What had she been all her life but
burden-bearer, sorrow-sharer?
"Nothing."
"If I ever can, will you tell me?"
"This is the only secret I have kept from you, Pansy. I am sure
you have kept none from me. I believe that if I could read
everything in you, I should find nothing I did not wish to know."
She did not reply for a while. Then she said solemnly: "I have one
secret. There is something I try to hide from every human being
and I always shall. It is not a bad secret, Dent. But I do not
wish to tell you what it is, and I feel sure you will never ask me."
He turned his eyes to her clear with unshakable confidence: "I
never will."
Pansy was thinking of her mother's poverty.
They sat awhile in silence.
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