He was very handsome. Even in
the seething of her pain and jealousy Thyra yearned over his
beauty. She would have liked to put up her hands and caress his
face, but her voice was very hard when she asked him where he had
been so late.
"I called in at Tom Blair's on my way home from the harbor," he
answered, trying to walk on. But she held him back by his arm.
"Did you go there to see Damaris?" she demanded fiercely.
Chester was uncomfortable. Much as he loved his mother, he felt,
and always had felt, an awe of her and an impatient dislike of
her dramatic ways of speaking and acting. He reflected,
resentfully, that no other young man in Avonlea, who had been
paying a friendly call, would be met by his mother at midnight
and held up in such tragic fashion to account for himself. He
tried vainly to loosen her hold upon his arm, but he understood
quite well that he must give her an answer. Being strictly
straight-forward by nature and upbringing, he told the truth,
albeit with more anger in his tone than he had ever shown to his
mother before.
"Yes," he said shortly.
Thyra released his arm, and struck her hands together with a
sharp cry. There was a savage note in it. She could have slain
Damaris Garland at that moment.
"Don't go on so, mother," said Chester, impatiently. "Come in
out of the cold. It isn't fit for you to be here. Who has been
tampering with you? What if I did go to see Damaris?"
"Oh--oh--oh!" cried Thyra.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169