Though a devoted, she was not a blind mother, and she was disagreeably aware that her little son never "gave himself away." She did not wish to start him on a long romancing explanation which would embody--if one were to put it in bald English--a lie.

So she said nothing.
They were close to the door of the house when he again took her aback by suddenly saying:--"I don't think Mrs.Crofton can be a very nice sort of lady, Mum." (Then he had seen Mrs.Crofton, and _she_ had told him.) "Why not, Timmy ?" "I have a sort of feeling that she's horrid." "Nonsense! If only for your godfather's sake, we must all try and like her.

Besides, my boy, she's in great trouble.

Her husband only died two or three months ago." "Some people aren't sorry when their husbands die," remarked Timmy.
She pretended not to hear.

But as they walked through into the hall she heard him say as if to himself: "Some people are glad.