“I came to see you,” she began, pushing back the bonnet which had partially obscured her face. “Your servants told me they didn't know where you were.” “You wanted to see _me?_” he gasped. “Has anything gone wrong?” “No, it is not _that_,” the woman said, leading the way toward a clump of cedars on the grass, as if from the sensitive fear of meeting some one on the walk. “My daughter and the child came home at noon. I saw from her looks that she was troubled over something, and that Lionel had been crying, from the marks on his face; but I did not question either of them. All this afternoon she did not speak of you, but to-night, after she had put the boy to sleep, she came into my room and sat down near me. I knew she was in awful struggle over something. She began telling me, in a slow, halting voice, of all that you had said. She is my only child, Kenneth Galt, but I don't understand her any better than if she were not of my flesh and blood. I never fully understood her father. I suppose no practical-minded person can comprehend those who live in the imagination, surrounded by ideals which become real to them. She began to go over the whole history of her trouble from the very first, and she never left out a single detail. She summed it all up in the most marvellous manner. My heart ached for her as it never had before. She wants to do right, she says, and she knows what would be right and self-sacrificing on her part, but she says she simply can't conquer the offended pride within her. She has had trouble and we are poor, but there never was born a queen with more pride of womanhood.” “Yes, yes,” Galt gasped, as he stared at her. “I know; I know.” “Then I tried to advise her,” Mrs. Barry went on. “At first it was like talking to a person born deaf, but finally she began to listen, for, as a last resort, I was holding up the child's interests. I spoke of what a glorious thing a trip to Paris would be--to stay there as long as we liked, and to be able to come home again, for we do love it here, and I am sure the people would be kind in their view of it. I reminded her that once, when we asked Lionel what he had rather have than anything on earth, he had said that, _first_, he wanted a father like other children, and, _next_, that he wanted to be where he could have playmates.” “Oh, I can't bear it, Mrs. Barry!” Galt groaned. “If there is anything under high heaven I could do to rectify my mistake, I'd give my life to do it.”