"But you must. It was my fault," said his mother. "I dare say I asked
you tactlessly. I was so much upset at the time that I only thought
about myself."

"Why did he go?" asked Stella suddenly.

"Well, that was my fault. I was always so dreadfully worried over the
way in which I had spoilt his life that when he thought he ought to go
and fight for his country, I could not bear to dissuade him. You see,
having no heir, he was always fretting and fretting about the
extinction of his family, and he had a fancy that the last of his name
should do something for his country. He had given up his country for me,
and I knew that if he went to the war he would feel that he had paid the
debt. I never minded so much that we weren't married, but I always
minded the feeling that I had robbed him by my love. He was such a very
dear fellow. He was always so good and patient, when I begged him not to
see you both. That was his greatest sorrow. But it wouldn't have been
fair to you, dear children. You must not blame me for that. I knew it
was better that you should be brought up in ignorance. It was, wasn't
it?" she asked wistfully.

"Better," Michael murmured.

"Better," Stella echoed.

Mrs. Fane stood up, and Michael beheld her tall, tragical form with a
reverence he had never felt for anything.

"Children, you must forgive me," she said.

And then simply, with repose and exquisite fitness she left Michael and
Stella to themselves. By the door Stella overtook her.

"Mother darling," she cried. "You know we adore you. You do, don't you?"

Mrs. Fane smiled, and Michael thought he would cherish that smile to the
end of his life.

"Well?" said Michael, when Stella and he were sitting alone again.

"Of course I've known for years it was something like this," said
Stella.

"I can't think why I never guessed. I ought to have guessed easily,"
Michael said. "But somehow one never thinks of anything like this in
connection with one's own mother."

"Or sister," murmured Stella, looking up at a spot on the ceiling.

"I wish I could kick myself for not having said good-bye to him,"
Michael declared. "That comes of talking too much. I talked much too
much then. Talking destroys action. What a beast I was. Lily and I look
rather small now, don't we?" he went on. "When you think of the amount
that mother must have suffered all these years, it just makes Lily and
me look like illustrations in a book. It's a curious thing that this