“You will oblige me by not referring to Jack’s infirmity again. He was the only creature I’ve had to love since my mother, and I loved him as he was. You and I, Catherine, should be the last to depreciate him for what he symbolized.” “Symbolized? Oh, don’t tell me that again!” “Your criticism forces me to remind you. Outwardly our son was the symbol of our malformed union.” “_John_, what a grim thought!” “Grim as the inheritance law--even to the third and fourth generation. He paid the price in his person of our crime in giving him birth. Through our fault, not his own, his body was warped and his temper uncertain. I often remembered when I looked at him--remembered that no amount of love was enough to atone for the wrong we had done him. I, for one, am grateful that we three were spared the greater punishment. So easily, in the sardonic scheme of things, the soul of him, too, might have been warped. But his was as gallant and large and sweet as ever outgrew injustice.” The implications against herself had turned Catherine to one of the many mirrors conveniently placed. “How can you take such stern pride in your loyalty? You used to say, you know, that you loved me.” He, also, studied her reflection. “I suppose you would call that a self-respecting statement? All right, we’ll give it the benefit of my doubt that it is mere vanity. I did love what I thought you were. But that was taken away, like my mother--like Jack.” She showed the flurry that caught her up whenever inspired by one of her “brainy” thoughts. “Has a man a right to think things about a woman which aren’t true, marry her on the strength of them and then blame her for the rest of their unnatural lives because he made a mistake?” “In our case I had--every right. Have you forgotten the details of our first meeting, Catherine? Your father had invited me to the house really to see you, not the pictures he hoped to sell me. Your mother had selected me, sight unseen, by virtue of my bank account. They helped you to make an impression on me which all of you knew to be false. You were dressed in white, which you afterward told me you never expected to wear again until your funeral. You looked innocent and tender and dependent--all of which you were not. You sat upon a hassock and played with a white Persian kitten--oh, every detail of the studied effect made a lasting impression upon me! You had well-developed claws then, but you held them in far more carefully than did the kitten. Later, I learned, with quite a shock, that you detested cats. Yet you held this one to your cheek and understudied its appeal to the best of your feline ability.” “Thanks for admitting that I have some sort of ability,” the gentle voice purred. “You have more than ability. You have positive power.” “My dear John! But don’t pay me all your stored-up compliments in one visit. Save some and call again.”