hands are as soft as little birds. They comfort even me. Oh, don't you
understand!"

"Of course I understand!" Moya answered, her face aflame. "But I cannot
marry Paul. He has got to marry me."

"What nonsense that is! People say to a girl: 'You can't be too cold
before you are married or too kind after!' That does not mean you and
Paul. If you are not kind to him _now_, you will make a great mistake."

"He is not thinking of marriage," said Moya. "Something weighs on him all
the time. I cannot ask him questions. If he wanted to tell me he would.
That is why I come downstairs and leave him. But he won't come down! Is it
not strange? If we could believe such things I would say a Presence came
with, him out of that place. It is with him when I find him alone. It is
in his eyes when he looks at me. It is not something past and done with,
it is here--now--in this house! _What_ is it? What do _you_ believe?"

The eyes she sought to question hardened under her gaze. Here, too, was a
veil. Mrs. Bogardus sat with her hands clasped in her lap. She was
motionless, but the creaking of her silks could be heard as her bosom rose
and fell. After a moment she said: "Paul's tray is on the table in the
dining-room. Will you take it when you go up?"

Moya altered her own manner instantly. "But you?" she hesitated. "I must
not crowd you out of all your mother privileges. You have handed over
everything to me."

"A mother's privilege is to see herself no longer needed. I can do nothing
more for my son"--her smile was hard--"except take care of his money."