"Somehow I never thought of that.

I remembered his old dislike of being followed about, or taken care of, or--or spied upon, as he used to call it." "Boys just turning into men are often sensitive on those points," said John, heedful always of the doctor's warning.
"It is odd I did not see the telegram in that light," said poor Lady Mary.

"I must read it again." She spoke as hopefully as though she had not read it already a hundred times over, trying to read loving meanings, that were not there, between the curt and peremptory lines.
"It is not odd," thought John to himself; "it is because you knew him too well;" and he wondered whether his explanation of Peter's action were charitable, or merely unscrupulous.
But Lady Mary was not really deceived; only very grateful to the man who was so tender of heart, so tactful of speech, as to make it seem even faintly possible that she had misjudged her boy.
She said to herself that parents were often unreasonable, expecting impossibilities, in their wild desire for perfection in their offspring.

An outsider, being unprejudiced by anxiety, could judge more fairly.

John found that the telegram, which had almost broken her heart, was reasonable and justified; nay, even that it displayed a dutiful regard for her safety and comfort, of which no one but a stranger could possibly have suspected Peter.