remember back. You told me, you know, that you didn't know who your parents were."
"Yes'm," he admitted.
"But that—that woman had told you that she was your mother and had told you who she said your father was."
He winced and gazed at her unhappily. They had told her, then, about the woman. She must, he comprehended, if she knew that, know all the rest. It was not quite clear to him, since the woman had proved not to be his mother, what the effect of this upon her must be. Didn't it matter to her now? He felt vaguely that there must still be pain of some sort in it for her, but she had forgiven her husband, it appeared, for she had let him hold her hand.
"Why did you tell me that?" she asked
He hesitated, doubtful whether to tell her the truth. He might, he decided, do that now, since the other things were known to her. "They said it would spoil your life to know about me," he confessed.
She appeared not to understand. Walter
