be taken care of." Her brown fingers were tightly clasped, as they
rested on the cab doors. "All her life she has wanted to be taken care
of--and all her life she has been thrown back upon herself. When I was
little, I had her; but when she was little, she had no one. Our mother
died when I was born."

Something in the simple pathos of this statement stirred Gore's
ever-present sense of the sacredness of home ties.

"I never knew that," he said very quietly.

"Yes, our mother died when I was born; and Clo grew up in our father's
care. Did she ever tell you about our father?"

"No. At least----"

"Then I shall. I've told Pierce. People ought to know. It helps them to
understand.

"Our father was a spendthrift--a gambler--a man without any principles.
If somebody stronger than himself had taken him in hand when he was
young, things might have been different. But he began by ruling
everybody who came in contact with him, until at last nobody dared to
rule him.

"Can you imagine how a man like that would bring up a daughter--you who
had a mother to help you in every year of your life?"

Her blue eyes darkened with intensity.

"Our home in Ireland is a big lonely house on the sea-coast. Imagine
growing up in a house like that, without care or money or friends--for
father drove all his friends away. Imagine Clo's life! Her only
learning was what she got with our cousin from the schoolmaster of the
nearest village; her only amusements were sailing and riding and
fishing. She never had the love or friendship of a woman of her own
class; she never knew what it was to be without the dread of debt or
disgrace; and then, at eighteen, she married the first man who came
into her life--not because she liked him--not because she wanted to
marry, or knew what marrying was--but because he had saved our father's
honour by paying his debt!"

She paused to take breath; but before Gore could speak, she went on
again:

"Do you know what I always wonder, Walter, when I think of Clodagh?"

Gore made a low murmur.

"I wonder, considering everything, that she hasn't done really wrong
things, instead of just terribly foolish ones! It doesn't seem strange
to me that she should have behaved like a child, when she first felt
what it was to be free and flattered and admired. Listen, Walter! There
have been too many clouds between you and Clodagh. Neither of you has
understood. You have been too proud; and she has been too much afraid