And what were they doing to Martin? At that thought she
sprang up and began hurriedly to walk about. Oh, they must leave him
alone! What were they saying to him? They were telling him how
ridiculous it was to have anything to do with a plain, ugly girl!
And he? Was he defending her? At the sudden suggestion of his
disloyalty indignation fought in her with some strange, horrible
suspicion. Yes, it would come back, that thought. He was weak. He
had told her that he was. He was weak. She KNEW that he was. She
would not lie to herself. And then at the thought of his weakness
the maternal love in her that was the strongest instinct in her
character flooded her body and soul, so that she did not mind if he
were weak, but only wanted to defend him, to protect him . . .
Strangely, she felt more sure of him at that moment when she was
conscious of his weakness than she had been when she asserted his
strength. Beneath that weakness he would be true to her because he
needed her. No one else could give him what she did; he had said so
again and again. And it would always be so. He would have to come
back to her however often he denied her.
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