The Foot of Time: A Novel of Australia and the South Seas: (1933)

210 THE FOOT OF TIME
nickers had been making too free with their banana
and orange skins to please her. "She'd show them."
"I've just had a good cry," Clare told her. "Bruce
has told me everything."
"I wish I could, my dear," replied Florence. "I
envy you. After sleep it's the best antidote possible.
Never could cry myself; often wanted to,
but nothing doing."
This brought a smile to the harassed mother.
"There you are, you see," Florence pointed out.
"What did I tell you? Here am I longing to squinney
and can't, while you are feeling better already."
"It isn't the cry which has done me good," contradicted
Mrs. Swinton.
"Then what the hades is it, my dear?"
"Seeing you."
"Fiddlesticks!" said Miss Tooth. "Stuff and nonsense!
Don't you start that sort of talk with me,
my dear. You and I know better."
"Oh, you old darling!" cried Clare, throwing her
arms impulsively round the old lady and recommencing
her outward and visible sign of emotion.
"There, there, then!" Have your cry out, dearie.
God knows you've suffered enough to make you."
Sitting herself down in a chair, Florence petted
Clare like any baby. Petted her and stayed with
her till she was quite herself again.
"You mustn't judge your boy too badly, my
dear," she counselled her. "You think you know
the whole story, but you don't know one-half of
it, and you probably understand less. Bruce was
more sinned against than sinning. The boy couldn't
THE FOOT OF TIME 211
help himself. Flesh and blood wouldn't stand what
that boy had up against him. It had to come
sooner or later. Oh, yes, I know. I've no doubt
he has painted himself in the blackest terms to you.
Young fool! He needn't even have told you. Do
you realise that, Mam?"
"Bruce would always tell me everything, Aunt
Florence."
"There you are, you see. What do I tell you?
The boy's white. Clean white all through. Why
the devil shouldn't he sow his wild oats? They all
do. At least, I'll admit we Australians are among
the cleanest livers on earth, but—"
"But it's the child. That's the awful part!"
"Umm!" said Florence. "Yes, a pity; but—well,
anyhow the main thing is that your boy's white.
Now, if he had forged a cheque and had been partaking
of free board and lodging in Long Bay; but
this other thing, Clare, my dear. Boys will be boys
if too badly put up against it. Understand me well.
I made it my personal business to look into everything.
Do you understand? Everything. Bruce was
forced into it. You know what life is—or, rather,
what it can be, given the circumstances." And then
she told Clare of her interview with Molota and
every detail of her visit to the island.
When Florence went she left behind her a more
reconciled Clare, but she felt she would have to
exercise care where Edith was concerned. She
thought it would be best to leave things alone in
that quarter. Wait until matters developed. The
boy was likely to keep away from the girl at first.