it than it's an obvious lie."

"It was much more than that. Think of her as a little girl going with
her mother into a greengrocer's and hearing about Alicante grapes, and
asking what Alicante was, and being told it was in Spain, and making the
most lovely pictures of it in her mind and keeping them there ever
since. Oh, she's a poor, beauty-loving thing. That's how the handsome
sailor picked her up in Chatham High Street on Saturday night."

"No doubt you're right," he said, looking into the fire.

"And she hated giving up the child. That's why she snarls at Roger.
Until she gets another she'll be famished. It was taken over, I expect,
by a married sister or brother who've got no children of their own.
She's not allowed to see it now. Not since she left the nice place that
was found for her after she'd got over her trouble. Twenty pounds a
year--because of her lost character; and for the same reason rather more
work than the rest of the servants, who all found out about it. So she
ran away."

He interrupted her: "Supposing all that's true. And I know it is. It's
like you, mother, to read from a patch of brown skin on a woman's face
things that other people would have found out only by searching registry
records and asking the police. It's like the way you always turned your
back on the barometer and read the sky for news of the weather. You're
an old peasant woman under your skin, mother." His voice was hazed with
delight. He had forgotten the moment in the timeless joy of his love for
her. Ellen, in the shadows, stirred and coughed. He broke out again:
"Well, supposing all that's true! Are you going to be honest and be as
clear-sighted about what happened after she ran away? Mother, think of
the things that have been done to her, think of the things she's seen!"

The indifferent tone continued now, although she said: "Think of the
horrible things that have been done to me, think of the horrible things
I've seen! Oh, you're right, of course. Unhappy people are dangerous.
They clutch at the happy people round them and drag them down into the
vortex of their misery. But if you're going to hate anybody for doing
that, hate me. Look how I've dominated you with my misfortunes, look how
I've eaten up your life by making you feel it a duty to compensate me
for what I've endured. Hate me. But don't hate Poppy. Oh, that poor,
simple creature. Even now, after all that's happened, she'd be pleased
like a child if you took her