Then she thought over the years he had been befriending her, and
wondered what she should do about that. Finally, being a sensible
woman, she decided to do nothing. Had she known it before, or learned
the truth by other means, she would have refused absolutely to touch
Herbert Penfold's money; but it would be indeed a poor return for his
kindness were she now, when he was ill and feeble, and was about to
bestow still further benefits upon her, to refuse to permit him any
longer to aid her. She wished, as she read the letter over again, that
he had expressed some desire to see her. She should have liked to have
thanked him in person, to have told him how grateful she felt for his
care and kindness, to have taken his hand again if but for a minute.

But he had expressed no wish for a meeting, had never all these years
made an effort to see her. She could read in the wording of the letter
that he had been principally deterred from making any attempt to see
her by the feeling that he had entirely forfeited her regard, and had
offended her beyond chance of forgiveness. And had she been asked the
day before she would doubtless have replied that she had no wish
whatever ever again to meet Herbert Penfold; whereas now she felt
almost aggrieved that he should express no wish to meet her, should
have stayed away so long without making one effort to bring about
reconciliation.

"Of all faults that a man can have," she said pettishly, "I do not
think there's one so detestable as that of self-distrust. Why could he
not have said ten years ago, 'I behaved badly, Mary; I treated you
abominably; but forgive me and forget. I was not wholly to blame,
except that I allowed others to come between us?' If he had come and
said that, we could at least have been good friends. I have no