t he might have to say.

Even to her it was evident that the big man was perplexed and abashed;
his hat was in his way and so were his hands, and when he spoke his
voice was so husky as to be distressful. On Mary, who had withdrawn to
the very end of the room, this discomfort of speech had a peculiar
effect: the unsteady voice touched her breast to a kindred fluttering,
and her throat grew parched and so irritated that a violent fit of
coughing could not be restrained, and this, with the nervousness and
alarm which his appearance had thronged upon her, drove her to a very
fever of distress. But she could not take her eyes away from him, and
she wondered and was afraid of what he might say. She knew there were
a great many things he might discuss which she would be loath to hear
in her mother's presence, and which her mother would not be gratified
to hear either.

He spoke for a few moments about the weather, and Mrs. Makebelieve
hearkened to his remarks with a perplexity which she made no effort to
conceal. She was quite certain he had not called to speak about the
weather, and she was prepared to tell him so if a suitable opportunity
should occur. She was also satisfied that he had not come on a formal,
friendly visit--the memory of her last interview with him forbade such
a conjecture, for on that occasion politeness had been deposed from
her throne and acrimony had reigned in her stead. If his aunt had
desired him to undertake an embassy to her he would surely have
delivered his message without preamble, and would not have been thrown
by so trifling a duty into the state of agitation in which he was. It
was obvious, therefore, that he had not come with a message relating
to her work. Something of fear touched Mrs. Makebelieve as she looked
at him, and her voice had an uneasy note when she requested to know
what she could do for him.

The policeman suddenly, with the gesture of one throwing away anchors,
plunged into the heart of his matter, and as he spoke the look on Mrs.
Makebelieve's face changed quickly from bewilderment to curiosity and
dulled again to a blank amazement. After the first few sentences she
half turned to Mary, but an obscure shame prevented her from searching
out her daughter's eyes. It was borne quickly and painfully to her
that Mary had not treated her fairly: there was a secret here with
which a mother ought to have been trusted, and one which she could not
believe Mary would have withheld f