"
"Very well?"
"Very well."
As if at loss for words, Aaron King still hesitated. "Mr. Lagrange," he
said, at last, "there are some things about--about mother--that I would
like to tell you--that I think she would want me to tell you, under the
circumstances."
"Yes," said Conrad Lagrange, gently.
"Well,--to begin,--you know, perhaps, how much mother and I have always
been--" his fine voice broke and the older man bowed his head; but, with a
slight lift of his determined chin, the painter went on calmly--"to each
other. After father's death, until I was seventeen, we were never
separated. She was my only teacher. Then I went away to school, seeing her
only during my vacations, which we always spent, together in the country.
Three years ago, I went abroad to finish my study. I did not see her again
until--until I was called home."
"I know," came in low tones from the other.
"But, sir, while it seemed necessary that I should be away from
home,--that we should be separated,--all through this period, we exchanged
almost daily letters; planning for the future, and looking forward to the
time when we could, again, be together."
"I know, Aaron. It was very unusual--and very beautiful.
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