The Waterbury Democrat., 1942-09-12
AT FIRST SIGHT Chapter II

was 16. It was CataclysHnic. Martins coming made it seem as though mo- thing in her life up until that time had nlattered at all, and he colored everything that went after.
 She was In her last term at the Barrett School. In March, her Uncle Bruce came up. to talk over with her what was to happen after graduation.
 They sat over a table at Ye Campus Tea Shoppe and Uncle Bruce drank quantities of scald- Ing coffee, black, while Candace made the hearty mid-afternoon tea of an adolescent. "Think you'll have trouble getting by on the college entrance exams?" Uncle Bruce asked, teasing.
 I'm not even taking them"
 Though he smiled too, Uncle Bruce sighed little. That's rather too bad" he said lightly. Tt would have pleased your aunt"
 Would 1t? I don't see why" Candace said.
 He had realized for some time why Belle had insisted on the ex- pensive Barrett School for Can- dace: 1t, was not because she wanted to do something nice for the child whom, he acknowledged reluctantly, she disliked and rec sented, but because of the poS- Sible husband Candace might meet through 1t: the brother, or the cousin, or perhaps even the boy friend of one of the socially prom. inent girls who were students there.
 Belle could forgive the child lot, even her mothers ridiculous marriage, if she were to make it possible for her to say casually, My niece, Mrs. Somebody -or- other Important" Belle had ap- parently given up hope at last that Peter, his own son by a for mer wife, would endow her in any similar fashion. Peter was medical student, and actually grubbing at it." Belle said in dis gust. And likely as not, she would add, to marry some little nobody, he might even marry a nurse
 But Candace, he thought, realized non0 of those things, nor did he want her to. He was sorry for even that slight slip. He said lightly to cover 1t, "Your aunt is old-faShion- ed. The only career she can see for g woman is marriage"
 "oh, I'll probably marry" Can- dace conceded, "but years from now. After I've worked, after I've paid at all back"
 Paid what back?" Bruce de- manded.
 Candace flushed. Don't think I haven't realized what an ex- pense I've been to you all these years"
 "Who has ever said anything about expense? Have ever--"
 "Oh, mo-" Candace said hastily, "Oh, no. It's just myself, just what I've felt. I'm only Aunt Bella's sisters child, I'm not really related to you at all. And yet, all these years I've been a nui- sance to everybody all my nfe," she added.
 There was no hint of self-pity, she gave 1t simply as 8 statement of fact. Behind her seeming placidity. her quiet dignity, there had always been then this aware ness of the unwanted. unloved child. He had felt that 1t must be 50, but he had been busy. His conscience rebuked him, and the patlloS of her position twisted her sensibilties: and because he was uncomfortable he spoke sharply. We've loved you, we've done what we could. And to speak of paying back, of money - it's un- gracious of you, it's insulting"
 "Oh. Uncle Bruce, I didn't mean" She held her jaw rigid. he guessed, in an effort to keep from tears, and her hands twisted together. But if my own mother didn't want me"
 Bruce swore. "Who ever said such Q thing?"
 She pointed out with simple logic, "She gave me away. didn't she?"
 Bruce became aware that his voice had been rising and that the waitress was taking an inter- est in their conversation. He leaned across the table, spoke low. quietly. Lets get this straight" he said. "Your mother loved you Your father, too. They loved you so much that they could bear to part with you = but only to your mothers own sister. mind = so that you could have beteer care than they could give you"
 She was quiet, digesting that, and making pretense of eating while she fought for self-control. She asked finally, painfully. as though only a desperate need could drive her to mention 1t, "Uncle Bruce, I've always wanted to know: were they happy to- gethee? Was she glad she did ftp"
 He thought back, remembering the shabby, sick little woman in rusty clothes, with only the fine eyes left as a remnant of her youthful good looks. he thought of the man with the face of an ascetic. singing to her. because his crippled fingers could no longer coax music from his violin, the melodies which he had once taught her and which she had always loved. And he remem. bered their faces as they looked at each ether :. He said. 'SThey were very much in love. They were poor, and sick, but they were happy together"