She felt herself growing impatient.  It was clear that he had spoken out of interest for the child alone, and any shadowy suspicion that he designed to declare interest in herself departed from Sabina’s mind.

“Well, what’s that to me?  I can’t alter him.  I can’t make him regard you as a hero and a father to be proud of.  He’s not hard-hearted or anything of that.  He’s pretty much like other boys of his age—­more sensitive, that’s all.  He can suffer very sharply and bitterly and he did when that cruel, blundering fool at North Hill House had him whipped.  He gets the cursed power to suffer from his mother.  And, such is his position in the world, that his power to suffer no doubt will be proved to the utmost.”

“I don’t want him to suffer.  At least it is in my reach to save him a great deal of needless suffering.”

“That’s just what it isn’t—­not with his nature.  He’d rather suffer than be beholden to you for anything.  Young as he is, he’s told me so in so many words.  He knows he’s different from other boys—­already he knows it—­and that breeds bitterness.  He’s like a dog that’s been ill-treated and finds it hard to trust anybody in consequence.  Unfortunately for you, he’s got brains enough to judge; and the older he grows, the harder he’ll judge.”

“That’s what I want to break down, Sabina.  It’s awfully sad to feel, that for a prejudice against things that can’t be altered, he should stand in his own light and be a needless martyr and make me a greater villain than I am.”

“Are you a villain?  If you are, it isn’t my child that made you one—­nor me, either.  No doubt it’s awkward to see him running about and breathing the same air with you.”

He felt an impulse of anger, but easily checked it.

“You’re rather hard on me, I think.  It’s a great deal more than awkward to have my child take this line.  It’s desperately sad.  And you must know—­thinking purely and only of him—­that nothing can be gained and much lost by it.  You say he’ll hate me more as he grows older.  But isn’t that a thing to avoid?  What good comes into the world with hate?  Can’t you see that it’s your place, Sabina, to use your influence on my side?”

“My God!” she said, “was there ever such a selfish man as you!  Out of your own mouth you condemn yourself, for it’s your inconvenience and discomfort that’s troubling you—­not his fate.  He’s a living witness against you—­a running sore in your side—­and that’s why you want his friendship, to ease yourself and heal your conscience.  Anybody could see that.”

He did not answer; but this indictment astonished him.  Could she still be so stern after the years that had swept over their quarrel?

“You wrong me there, Sabina.  Indeed, it’s not for my own comfort only, but much more largely for his that I am so much concerned.  Surely we can meet on the common ground of his welfare and leave the rest?”