He sat down on the floor and cried. The door opened; before he could
resist or make any movement, his mother's arms were about him, his
mother's cheek against his, and she was whispering: "Oh, my darling, my
darling!"
The horrible thing then occurred. He was savage, with a wild, fierce,
protesting rage. His cheeks flamed. His tears were instantly dried. That
he should have been caught thus! That, when he had been presenting so
brave and callous a front to the world, at the one weak and shameful
moment he should have been discovered! He scarcely realised that this
was his mother, he did not care who it was. It was as though he had been
delivered into the most horrible and shameful of traps. He pushed her
from him; he struggled fiercely on his feet. He regarded her with fiery
eyes.
"It isn't--I wasn't--you oughtn't to have come in. You needn't
imagine----"
He burst from the room. A shameful, horrible experience.
But it cannot be denied that he was ashamed afterwards. He loved his
mother, whereas he merely liked the rest of the family. He would not
hurt her for worlds, and yet, why _must_ she----
And strangely, mysteriously, her attitude was confused in his mind with
his dreams, and his Friend, and the red moon, and the comic chimneys.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253