“You weren’t certain that I would understand,” her mother interposed. “Perhaps you were right to think that. To a certain extent it is hard for me to understand how you, with all your loveliness, with all your gifts, with all your charm, could choose a life that could only bring you misery and self-reproach. But that’s in the past and there’s no use in going over it now. What matters is the present.”
“What did Char say to you?”
“Very little. When I asked Mrs. Strathwyn what was the hold she had over you, she was too taken aback to give me any coherent reply, and then I asked if it was about Lionel. There was no need for her to answer that, I saw by her face how surprised she was that I knew.”
“And how did you know?”
Mrs. Vale sighed.
“I am old,” she said again, “but I am not quite idiotic. I knew there must be a reason which kept you abroad, a reason why you never came home. I’m afraid I didn’t quite believe the stories that you told me of your various jobs.
“You see, darling, your letters were disjointed, the stories they contained were somewhat erratic. No employer could have behaved quite so generously, or any employee be as lucky as you were in your choice of place and amusements.”
“So you were suspicious?” Mona whispered.
“Shall we say anxious,” her mother replied. “I hate the word suspicious.”
“Go on. I want to know Mummy, exactly what happened.”
“Well, then it seemed a little strange that you never mentioned Lionel. I knew, of course, where he was and if you were both in the same place it seemed ridiculous that you should never meet.
“I know of course how small society is in Cairo and in Vienna. I have been to both places with your father, and after a time I began to wonder if it was deliberate, the omission of Lionels name from your letters. But I was not absolutely sure until you came home after he had died in America.”
“And then?”
“Then, dear, I saw your face when I mentioned his death. You thought you were acting well to deceive your mother, but mothers are not easily deceived. I heard the pain in your voice and I knew how much you were trying to hide it from me, and how very unhappy you were those first weeks after you returned.
“So when Mrs. Strathwyn came and it was quite obvious that she was unwelcome, I gradually began to put two and two together until it seemed clear that it was for me to help, if I could.”
“Oh Mummy, what must you think of me?”
It was a cry of bitter misery and remorse, and in reply Mrs. Vale put her had very tenderly on her daughter’s shining hair.
“What do you expect me to think? She asked. “That you’ve been very foolish?”
“Foolish!” Mona cried. “I’ve ruined my life, but now, what is worse, I’ve ruined yours.”
Mrs. Vale laughed. It was a sweet sound.
“You could never do that, my darling. I’ve still got you, you see, and that’s all that really matters. Always remember that one loves a person because of what they are, not for what they do. I should love you the same were you a murderess. I should be sad and sorry, but I couldn’t’ help loving you. You are a part of myself, my own flesh and blood, and I could not forget that.”
Mona was crying now. Her face was covered with her hands and the tears were trickling through her fingers. She was crying brokenly and helplessly as she had not cried since Lionels death.
“Don’t darling, don’t,” her mother said. “Everything’s all right now. You are home and nothing shall hurt you while I am here to prevent it.”
Mona reached for her handkerchief.
“You are making me cry,” she said through her sobs. “You are being so marvellous Mummy. I had no idea that you could be like this.”
“I only wish you had trusted me.”
“It would have been much easier for me if I had, but I had only one idea, to keep you from knowing what I was doing. You see, I was ashamed.”
“I thought that must be the reason.”
Mona wiped her eyes and sat back on her heels.
“What a shambles I’ve made of my life. Why couldn’t I have married someone nice, had a home of my own, and by this time, a large family of children?”
“That’s what I’d have liked for you,” her mother said wistfully. “That’s what I’ve always hoped would happen, but perhaps…” She stopped.
“Yes?”
“Perhaps for some people experience is important whatever the price they pay for it. It is difficult for me to put what I mean into words. But you have always been different from other girls, at least I have thought so. More intelligent, more alive, asking more of life than a quiet, placid existence. Perhaps there’s some reason for this, a reason that we, in our human blindness, find it difficult to understand.”
She looked at Mona, then said,
“One thing I can never understand is how religion can make some people so narrow and others so broadminded. Religion should help us to expand our comprehension of human frailty, not limit it.”
“But still,” Mona insisted, “you ought to be angry with me, Mummy. You’re religious and good. You ought to point out to me how bad, how weak I’ve been. I feel it is wrong for you to be sympathetic.”
“I’m not sympathetic with your actions, but with you,” Mrs. Vale replied. “I think we, all of us, earn our own punishment. Haven’t you found that already?”
Mona bent forward and kissed her mother on the cheek.
“You are so right, darling, then there is nothing for me to say.” Then taking her mother’s hand, she added, “Except one thing, one thing I’ve got to tell you. Michael wants to marry me.”
She saw the expression of joy on her mother’s face, before she added quickly,
