After a silence Miss Benedet said, "Now for the heart of my own weakness.
Suppose that I did have a hope. Suppose that I had laid the responsibility
upon you, the parents, hoping that you would decide for happiness, mere
happiness, without question of desert or blame. And suppose you had
defended me to him. Would that have been best? Where then would be his
cure? Now let us put away all cowardice, for him as well as for ourselves.
Happiness for him could have but one foundation. You have told him the
facts; if he cannot bear them as all the world knows them, that is his
cure. I thank you. You knew where to put the knife."

"Oh, but this is cruel!" said the mother. "I don't want to be your judge.
You have had your punishment, and you took it like a queen. Now let us
think of Willy!"

"Please!" said the girl. "I cannot talk of this any more. We must stop
sometime."

The time of twilight came; the gasping house flung open doors and windows
to the night. Mr. Thorne pursued his evening walk alone among the fruits
and vegetables, counting his egg-plants, and marking the track of gophers
in his rows of artichokes. The women were strolling toward the hill. Miss
Benedet had put on a cloth skirt and stiff shirt-waist for her journey,
and suffered from the change, but did not show it. Her beauty was not of
the florid or melting order. Mrs. Thorne regarded her inconsolably, noting
with distinct and separate pangs each item of her loveliness, as she
moved serene and pale against the dark, resonant green of the pines. They
followed a foot-path back among the trees to a small gate or door in the
high boundary fence. Mrs. Thorne tried it to see if it were locked.

"Willy used to live, almost, on this hill when he came out for his