Just as Mrs Irving had written her story for her daughter to read,
she told it, in the main, to the rector a few days before her death.

Only once before had the tale passed her lips; then her listener was
Horace Irving; and his only comment was to take her in his arms and
place the kiss of betrothal on her lips. Never again was the painful
subject referred to between them. So imbued had Berene Dumont become
with her belief in the legitimacy of her child, and in her own
purity, that she felt but little surprise at the calm manner in which
Mr Irving received her story, and now when the rector of St Blank's
Church was her listener, she expected the same broad judgment to be
given her. But it was the calmness of a great and all-forgiving love
which actuated Mr Irving, and overcame all other feelings.

Wholly unconventional in nature, caring nothing and knowing little of
the extreme ideas of orthodox society on these subjects, the girl
Berene and the woman Mrs Irving had lived a life so wholly secluded
from the world at large, so absolutely devoid of intimate
friendships, so absorbed in her own ideals, that she was incapable of
understanding the conventional opinion regarding a woman with a
history like hers.

In all those years she had never once felt a sensation of shame. Mr
Irving had requested her to rear Joy in the belief that she was his
child. As the matter could in no way concern anyone else, Mrs
Irving's lips had remained sealed on the subject; but not with any
idea of concealing a disgrace. She could not associate disgrace with
her love for Preston Cheney. She believed herself to be his
spiritual widow, as it were. His mortal clay and legal name only
belonged to his wife.