And I wanted to take her
hands in mine, and say: "You would never have married him if you'd
understood!"
22. Sylvia thought she ought to have been taught, but when she came
to think of it she was unable to suggest who could have done the
teaching. "Your mother?" I asked, and she had to laugh, in spite of
the seriousness of her mood. "Poor dear mamma! When they sent me up
here to boarding school, she took me off and tried to tell me not to
listen to vulgar talk from the girls. She managed to make it clear
that I mustn't listen to something, and I managed not to listen. I'm
sure that even now she would rather have her tongue cut out than
talk to me about such things."
"I talked to my children," I assured her.
"And you didn't feel embarrassed?"
"I did in the beginning--I had the same shrinkings to overcome. But
I had a tragedy behind me to push me on."
I told her the story of my nephew, a shy and sensitive lad, who used
to come to me for consolation, and became as dear to me as my own
children. When he was seventeen he grew moody and despondent; he ran
away from home for six months and more, and then returned and was
forgiven--but that seemed to make no difference.
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