"Perhaps you will not be troubled with my 'ways' for very many years,
mother. If you could feel my heart now! It jumps like something trying to
get out. It will get out some day. Have patience!"

"That is a poor way to retaliate upon your mother, Christine. Your health
is too serious a matter to trifle with. If you choose to make it a shield
against everything I say that doesn't please you, you can cut yourself off
from me entirely. I cannot beat down such a defense as that. Anger me you
never can, but you can make me helpless to help you."

"I dare say it's better that I should never marry at all," said Christine,
her eyes closed in resignation. "You never would like anybody I like."

"I shall say no more. You are a woman. I have protected you as far as I
was able on account of your weakness. I cannot protect you from the
weakness itself."

Mrs. Bogardus rose. She did not offer to comfort her child with caresses,
but in her eyes as she looked at her there was a profound, inalienable,
sorrowing tenderness, a depth of understanding beyond words.

"I know so well," the dark eyes seemed to say, "how you came to be the
poor thing that you are!"

The constraint which she felt towards her mother threw Chrissy back upon
Moya. Being a lesser power, she was always seeking alliances. Moya had put
aside their foolish tiff as unworthy of another thought; she was
embarrassed when at bedtime Christine came humbly to her door, and putting
her arms around her neck implored her not to be cross with her "poor
pussy." It was always the other person who was "cross" with Christine.