Horace did not mean to speak brutally; in his wonderment he merely pressed for a complete explanation. The answer was a sob, and for some moments neither of them spoke. Then the mother, her face still hidden, went on in a thick voice: ‘I married because I was poor--for no other reason--and then came the temptation. I behaved wickedly, I deserted my little children. Don’t revenge yourself upon me now, darling! If only I could have told you this before--I did so want to, but I was afraid. I had to conceal half my love for you. You can’t imagine how I have suffered from your anger, and from Nancy’s coldness. You don’t know me; I have never been able to let you see what I really think and feel. I am worldly; I can’t live without luxuries and society and amusements; but I love you, my dear son, and it will break my heart if you ruin yourself. It’s true I thought of Winifred’s money, but she is very fond of you, Horace; her mother has told me she is. And it was because of my own position. I have spent nearly all my husband left me; it wasn’t enough to supply me with an income; I could only hope that something--that you, dear, would forgive your poor mother, and help her. If you cast me off, what shall I do?’ There was a silence. Then the young man spoke gravely: ‘You are welcome, mother, to half my income. But you must leave me free to marry as I like.’ ‘Then I can’t take a penny from you,’ she answered, weeping. ‘If you ruin yourself, you ruin me as well.’ ‘The ruin would come if I married Winifred. I love Fanny; I love her with all my heart and soul, and have never ceased to love her. Tell me what you like about her, it will make no difference.’ A fit of violent coughing stopped his speech; he turned away, and stood by the window, holding his handkerchief to his mouth. Mrs. Damerel sank upon a chair in mute misery. CHAPTER 3 Below the hill at Harrow, in a byway which has no charm but that of quietness, stands a row of small plain houses, built not long ago, yet at a time when small houses were constructed with some regard for soundness and durability. Each contains six rooms, has a little strip of garden in the rear, and is, or was in 1889, let at a rent of six-and-twenty pounds. The house at the far end of the row (as the inhabitants described it) was then tenanted by Mary Woodruff, and with her, as a lodger, lived Mrs. Tarrant.