Gregorio was wise enough to control his anger then. For he knew that if
she were really to lose her love for the boy, all his chances, and the
boy's chances, of ease and prosperity would be destroyed. It was, of
course, ridiculous to imagine she would supply him with money then.
That she thoroughly loathed him, and would always loathe him, was very
certain. So great, indeed, seemed her contempt for him that it was quite
possible she might come to hate his child. So he did not attempt to
remain in the room, but as he closed the door after him he waited a
moment and listened. He heard her heave a sigh of relief and then say
to the little fellow, "How like your father you grow! My God! I almost
think I hate you for being so like him." Gregorio shuddered as he ran
noiselessly downstairs. He never ventured to speak to her again. He
argued himself out of the disquiet into which her words had thrown him.
He knew it was difficult for a woman to hate her child. The birth-pains
cement a love it requires a harsh wrench to sever. He easily persuaded
himself, as he sipped Madam Marx's coffee, that if he kept in the
background all cause for hatred would be removed.
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