On my trip from Chicago to Marion I went very carefully over the whole situation as it affected and might affect everybody concerned. I decided it was paramountly my problem, to solve for Elizabeth Ann, and, regardless of the shock which the revelation of my secret might cause, there did exist an obligation in the Harding family toward Elizabeth Ann, and I owed it to my child to apprise the Hardings of her true identity and parentage.
Of course, it would be difficult for me to tell Daisy Harding. It would mean for me the retracing of a word-for-word picture of that part of my life which I would fain recall only by sad-sweet memories unspoken, and the indelible imprint upon my character. Miss Harding's cordial, "Why, come right on out, Nan!" when I telephoned her from the Marion railroad station, brought me face to face with my promise to myself: that I would not postpone the telling, but have it over with.
I had scarcely seated myself when I said, "Miss Harding, I have something which I want you to know and I am going to proceed to tell you immediately."
I sat on the couch in the living-room. This was the first time I had been in Daisy Harding's new home since her marriage to Ralph Lewis. On the table stood a picture of my darling, taken with Laddie Boy, and it was the first time I had seen this particular picture of Mr. Harding. I looked closely at it when I sat down. Its presence bolstered me in the ordeal I must go through.
I plunged into my story and followed it as best I could from beginning to end. Neither nervous tension nor tears stopped me until I had pretty well covered the ground. Daisy Harding's face was a study. As I talked it expressed kaleidoscopically the varied emotions she must truly have experienced—amazement, pity, hurt, sorrow,—all there, but never for one moment incredulity.
The very first thing she said was, "Why, Nan, I'll bet that
