"I was a child; but the fault was mine. I should have been allowed to suffer for it in the natural way. No good ever comes of skulking. But they hurried me off to Europe, and began a cowardly system of concealment. They made me almost forget my own misconduct in shame for the things they did by way of covering it up. My mother never took me in her arms and cried over my disgrace. She would not speak of it, or allow me to speak. Not a word nor an admission; the thing must be as though it had never been! "They ruined Dick Malaby with their hush-money. They might better have shot him, but that would have made talk. My father died with only servants around him. Mama could not go to him. She was too busy covering my retreat. Oh, she kept a gallant front! I admired her, I pitied her, but I loathed her policy. Does not every girl know when she has been dedicated to the great god Success, and what the end of success must be? "I told mama at last that if she would bring men to propose to me I should tell them the truth. Does Lord So-and-so wish to marry a girl who ran away with her father's groom? That was the breach between us. She has thrown herself into it. She is going to marry a title herself, not to let it go out of the family. Have you not heard of the engagement? She is to be a countess, and the property is controlled by her, so now I have an excuse for doing something." "My dear!" Mrs. Thorne took the girl's cold hands in hers. "Do you mean that you are not your father's heiress?" "Only by mama's last will and testament. We know what that would be if she made it now!" "It was _then_ you came home?" "It was then, when I learned that one of my rejected suitors was to become my father. He might be my grandfather. But let us not be vulgar!" "Aren't you girls going to bed to-night?" Mr. Thorne inquired, with his usual leaning toward peace and quietness. "You can't settle everything at one sitting." "Everything is settled, Mr. Thorne, and I am going to bed," said Miss Benedet. Mrs. Thorne did not release her hands. "I want to ask you one more question." "I know exactly what it is, and I will tell you to-morrow." "Tell me now; it is perfectly useless going to your room; the temperature over your bed is ninety-nine." "The question, then! Why did I allow your son to commit himself in ignorance?" "No, _no_!" Mrs. Thorne protested. "Yes, yes! You have asked that question, you must have. You are an angel, but you are a mother, too." "I have asked no questions since you began to tell your story; but I have wondered how Willy could have found courage, in one week, to offer himself to such gifts and possessions as yours." "A mother, and a worldly mother!" Miss Benedet apostrophized. "I did not look for such considerations from you. And you are troubled for the modesty of your son?" "My dear, he has nothing, and he is--of course we think him everything he should be--but he is not a handsome boy." "Thank Heaven he is not."