"Folks generally have to go fully half-way to meet it," said Aunt Jane.
"You seen your wife?"
He nodded. "She has been telling me--I want to thank you!" He said it
impulsively and came nearer to her; his dark face worked with something
he did not say.
"Sit down, Mr. Dalton. You don't need to thank _me_," said Aunt Jane.
"Edith told me----"
"Yes, I don't doubt she told you. She thinks I did something, maybe. But
I didn't.... When folks get well," she was looking at him and speaking
slowly. "When folks get well they _get_ well--all over; and then no
matter _who_ comes along and says to 'em, 'Why don't you do
so-and-so?'--they think it's something special.... Maybe it's just as
well to let them think it--" she was smiling to him--"if it helps any."
"But it's true!" he said stoutly. "I've known Edith longer than you
have--she hasn't ever been the way she is now."
"I'm glad for you, Mr. Dalton!" said Aunt Jane heartily, "and I know
you'll be good to her. I can see it in your face--that you treat her
well."
The face clouded. "I mean to--but I never seem to know just how she'll
take things----"
"What's been the trouble?" asked Aunt Jane.
"She didn't tell you?"
Aunt Jane shook her head. "We didn't talk much--just visited together a
little and got acquainted."
He seemed thoughtful. "I think the real trouble is something that never
gets put into words; and it isn't so easy to put in words.... I'm a
failure, I guess!" He looked up apologetically. "I don't know that you
will understand. But I've had chances--every sort of chance--and I've
never made good."
"Never made money, you mean," said Aunt Jane placidly.