She saw that his face lost something of
its sternness. He was standing quietly, prepared now to listen to what
she might wish to say. He remembered that in the old days when he could
see, he had always associated her with a dignity of carriage and a
reticence of speech. It seemed hardly possible that it was the same
woman who spoke to him now, and the violence of the contrast made him
ready to believe that there must be perhaps something to be said on her
behalf.
"Will you tell me?" he said gently.
"I was married almost straight from school. I was the merest girl. I
knew nothing, and I was married to a man of whom I knew nothing. It was
my mother's doing, and no doubt she thought that she was acting for the
very best. She was securing for me a position of a kind, and comfort and
release from any danger of poverty. I accepted what she said blindly,
ignorantly. I could hardly have refused, indeed, for my mother was an
imperious woman, and I was accustomed to obedience. I did as she told me
and married dutifully the man whom she chose. The case is common enough,
no doubt, but its frequency does not make it easier of endurance."
"But Mr. Adair?" said Durrance.
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