And
Greyson was suffering as only a man can who, in a rare period of
sobriety, views the wrecks of his own making.
Ordinarily, as White truly supposed, Peter lied only when he was drunk;
but the sheriff could not estimate the vagaries of blood and so, at
Truedale's question, the father of Nella-Rose, with the gesture
inherited from a time of prosperity, rallied his forces and lied! Lied
like a gentleman, he would have said. Broken and shabby as Greyson was,
he appeared, at that moment, so simple and direct, that his listener,
holding to the sheriff's estimate, was left with little doubt concerning
what he heard. He, watching the weak and agonized face, believed Greyson
was making the best of a sad business; but that he was weaving from
whole cloth the garment that must cover the past, Truedale in his own
misery never suspected. While he listened something died within him
never to live again.
"Yes, sir. I have another daughter--lil' Nella-Rose."
Truedale shaded his face with his hand, but kept his eyes on Greyson's
distorted face.
"Lil' Nella-Rose. I have to keep in mind her youth and enjoying ways or
I'd be right hard on Nella-Rose. Yo' may have heard, while travelling
about--o' Nella-Rose?" This was asked nervously--searchingly.
"I've--I've heard that name," Truedale ventured. "It's a name
that--somehow clings and, being a writer-man, everything interests me.
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