in gentle acquiescence, with his smile that was full of pain:
"Yes, it is so," he said; and it was almost as if he were joking. "Come, let us be strong. I shall go on seeking . . . and you . . ."
"Oh, I have my boy!" she murmured. "He has always comforted me."
They walked back slowly and took leave of each other at the door, a friends' leave-taking.
"Will you come again soon?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. "You know, you no sooner see me than I am gone . . . I may go to England in the autumn, to lecture on Peace. The world is full of mighty problems; and we . . . we are pigmies . . . in the tiny worlds of our own selves . . ."
"Yes . . . we are nothing . . ."
He left her; she was conscious of a sort of farewell in the pressure of his hand. She went in, with her head swimming; and her son was there. And she embraced him, as though asking his forgiveness.
"Addie," she said, softly, "Papa was right, Papa was right . . . I believe that I now know for certain, dear, that I know for certain that Papa was right . . . Oh, Addie, whatever I may lose . . . you will not let me lose you? . . ."
