"I loved your mother very dearly," he said gravely. "I had loved
her from a child. But no woman will ever understand the power that
beauty has upon a man. You see we're built that way. It's Nature's
lure. Later on, of course, I might have forgotten; but then it was
too late. Can you forgive me?"
"But you still love her," reasoned Ann through her tears, "or you
wouldn't want him to come here."
"She had such a hard time of it," pleaded Abner. "It made things
easier to her, my giving her my word that I would always look after
the boy. You'll help me?"
"I'll try," said Ann. But there was not much promise in the tone.
Nor did Matthew Pole himself, when he arrived, do much to help
matters. He was so hopelessly English. At least, that was the way
Ann put it. He was shy and sensitive. It is a trying combination.
It made him appear stupid and conceited. A lonely childhood had
rendered him unsociable, unadaptable. A dreamy, imaginative
temperament imposed upon him long moods of silence: a liking for
long solitary walks. For the first time Ann and Mrs. Travers were
in agreement.
"A sulky young dog," commented Mrs. Travers. "If I were your uncle
I'd look out for a job for him in San Francisco."
"You see," said Ann in excuse for him, "it's such a foggy country,
England.
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