"Who--who was her mother, Uncle Bob?"
"If you love her, Frank, don't ask that question."
The young man snapped a dry twig from a tree and broke it with a sort of
silent concentration into half a dozen bits. "Then--it's true ... the
tale heard round town! That you and--"
"Yes, yes," Windham interrupted, "Frank, it's true."
"The--procuress?"
"Frank! For God's sake!" Windham's fingers gripped his nephew's arm.
"Don't let Maizie know. I've tried to live it down these twenty
years...."
"Damn it, do you think I'd tell Aunt Maizie?"
"It's--I can't believe it yet! That you--"
"Maizie wouldn't leave her mother." With a flicker of defiance Robert
answered him. "I was young, rudderless, after my people went East.... A
little wild, I guess."
"So you sought consolation?"
"Call it what you like," the other answered. "Some things are too strong
for men. They overwhelm one--like Fate."
Frank began pacing back and forth, his fingers opening and shutting
spasmodically.
"Uncle Bob," he said at length, "... after you married, what became--"
"Her mother sent the child East--to a sister. She was well
raised--educated. If she'd only stayed there, in that Massachusetts
town!"
"Then--Bertha didn't know?"
"Not till she came to San Francisco, after her mother's death.
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