I can tell it better here. I
couldn't go away without thanking you. I'll make a mess of it--I can
never explain things. But you've been so much to me--you mean so much
to me. You've made me believe in things I never believed in before.
You--you--I know now that there is such a thing as a good woman, a
woman who could make a man better, just because he breathed the same
air with her."

He paused for a moment; then went on in a still lower tone:

"It's hard when a fellow can't speak of his mother because he can't
say anything good of her, isn't it? My mother wasn't a good woman.
When I was eight years old she went away with a scoundrel. It broke
father's heart. Nobody thought I understood, I was such a little
fellow. But I did. I heard them talking. I knew she had brought shame
and disgrace on herself and us. And I had loved her so! Then, somehow,
as I grew up, it was my misfortune that all the women I had to do with
were mean and base. They were hirelings, and I hated and feared them.
There was an aunt of mine--she tried to be good to me in her way. But
she told me a lie, and I never cared for her after I found it out. And
then, father--we loved each other and were good chums. But he didn't
believe in much either. He was bitter, you know. He said all women
were alike. I grew up with that notion. I didn't care much for
anything--nothing seemed worth while. Then I came here and met you."

He paused again. Beatrice had listened with a gray look on her face.
It would have startled him had he glanced up, but he did not, and
after a moment's silence the halting boyish voice went on:

"You have changed everything for me. I was nothing but a clod before.
You are not the mother of my body, but you are of my soul. It was
born of you. I shall always love and reverence you for it. You will
always be my ideal. If I ever do anything worth while it will be
because of you. In everything I shall ever attempt I shall try to do
it as if you were to pass judgment upon it. You will be a lifelong
inspiration to me. Oh, I am bungling this! I can't tell you what I
feel--you are so pure, so good, so noble! I shall reverence all women
for your sake henceforth."

"And if," said Beatrice, in a very low voice, "if I were false to your
ideal of me--if I were to do anything that would destroy your faith in
me--something weak or wicked--"

"But you couldn't," he interrupted, flinging up his head and looking
at her with his great dog-like eyes,