The door opened squarely on her, and he saw how refined and sad, yet self-contained, was the woman who had given him birth.

The look in her eyes warmly welcomed him.

Her own sorrows made her sensitive to those of others, and as Carnac entered she saw something was vexing him.
"Dear lad!" she said.
He was beside her now, and he kissed her cheek.

"Best of all the world," he said; and he did not see that she shrank a little.
"Are you in trouble ?" she asked, and her hand touched his shoulder.
The wrong she had done him long ago vexed her.

It was not possible this boy could fit in with a life where, in one sense, he did not belong.
It was not part of her sorrow that he had given himself to painting and sculpture.