_Constance._--"Oh yes, I forgot." She falls into a brooding silence. "I wonder if _he_ will despise me--if he will be like in that too?" Mrs. Wyatt sighs patiently. "Why do you mind what I say, mother? I'm not worth it. I must talk on, or else go mad with the mystery of what has been. We were so happy; he was so good to me, so kind; there was nothing but papa's not seeming to like him; and then suddenly, in an instant, he turns and strikes me down! Yes, it was like a deadly blow. If you don't let me believe that it was because he saw all at once that I was utterly unworthy, I can't believe in anything." _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Hush, Constance; you don't know what you're saying." _Constance._--"Oh, I know too well! And now this stranger, who is so like him--who has all his looks, who has his walk, who has his voice,--won't he have his insight too? I had better show myself for what I am, at once--weak, stupid, selfish, false; it'll save me the pain of being found out. Pain? Oh, I'm past hurting! Why do you cry, mother? I'm not worth your tears." _Mrs. Wyatt._--"You're all the world to us, Constance; you know it, child. Your poor father"-- _Constance._--"Does papa really like me?" _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Constance!" _Constance._--"No; but why should he? He never liked _him_; and sometimes I've wondered, if it wasn't papa's not liking him that first set him against me. Of course, it was best he should find me out, but still I can't keep from thinking that if he had never _begun_ to dislike me! I noticed from the first that after papa had been with us he was cold and constrained. Mother, I had better say it: I don't believe I love papa as I ought. There's something in my heart--some hardness--against him when he's kindest to me. If he had only been kinder to _him_"-- _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Kinder to _him_? Constance, you drive me wild! Kind to a wolf, kind to a snake! Kind to the thief who has robbed us of all that made our lives dear; who stole your love, and then your hope, your health, your joy, your pride, your peace! And you think your father might have been kinder to _him_! Constance, you were our little girl when the war began,--the last of brothers and sisters that had died. You seemed given to our later years to console and comfort us for those that had been taken; and you were _so_ bright and gay! All through those dreadful days and months and years you were our stay and hope,--mine at home, his in the field. Our letters were full of you,--like young people's with their first child; all that you did and said I had to tell him, and then he had to talk it over in his answers back. When he came home at last after the peace--can you remember it, Constance?"