a dear boy, Becky--but--he's
married----" She went on presently with an effort. "He has been
married over two years--and, Becky--he has married--Mary Flippin."

"_Aunt Claudia----_"

"He married her in Petersburg--before he went to France with the first
ambulance corps. They decided not to tell anyone. Mary took Truxton's
middle name. When the baby came, Truxton was wild to write us, but
Mary--wouldn't. She felt if he was here when it was told that we would
forgive him---- If anything--happened to him--she didn't want him to
die feeling that we had--blamed him---- I must say that Mary--was
wise--but--to think that my son has married--Mary Flippin."

"Mary's a dear," said Becky stoutly.

"Yes," Aunt Claudia agreed, "but not a wife for my son. I had such
hopes for him, Becky. He could have married anybody."

Becky knew the kind of woman that Aunt Claudia had wanted Truxton to
marry--one whose ancestors were like those whose portraits hung in the
hall at Huntersfield--a woman with a high-held head--a woman whose
family traditions paralleled those of the Bannisters and Beauforts.

"Then Fiddle is Truxton's child."

"And I am a grandmother, Becky. Mrs. Flippin and I are
grandmothers----" She said it with a sort of bitter mirth.

"What did Grandfather say?"

"I left him--raging. It was--very hard on me. I had hoped--he would
make it easy. He declares that Mary Flippin shan't step inside of his
front door. That he is going to recall all the invitations that he had
sent out for to-night. I tried to show him that now that the thing is
done--we might as well--accept it. But he wouldn't listen. If he
keeps it up like this, I don't want Truxton to come back--to lunch. I
had hoped that he might bring Mary with him---- She's his wife,
Becky--and I've got to love her----"

"Aunt Claudia," Becky came over and put her arms about the pitiful
black figure, "you are the best sport--ever----"

"No, I'm not," but Aunt Claudia kissed her, and for a moment they clung
together; "you mustn't make me cry, Becky."

But she did cry a little, wiping her eyes with her black-bordered
handkerchief, and saying all the time, "He's my son, Becky. I--I can't
put him away from me----"

"He loved her," said Becky, with a catch of her breath. "I--I think
that counts a great deal, Aunt Claudia."

"Yes, it does. And they did no wrong. They were only foolish
children."

"If anyone was to blame," she went on steadily, "