I just felt that I'd got to say something.

That Mother must listen.

That she didn't understand.

I told her how Jerry loved lights and music and dancing, and crowds bowing down and worshiping him all the time.

And she said yes, she remembered; that _he'd been that way when I married him_.
She spoke so sort of queerly that again I glanced at her; but she still was looking down at the hem she was turning.
I went on then to explain that _I_ didn't like such things; that _I_ believed that there were deeper and higher things, and things more worth while.