He had been in love with Thyra , himself , long ago , and he still liked her in a friendly fashion . He always stood up for her when the Avonlea women ran her down . He felt troubled about her all night , recalling her as she paced the bridge . He wished he had gone back , in spite of Cynthia . When Chester came home he met his mother on the bridge . In the faint , yet penetrating , moonlight they looked curiously alike , but Chester had the milder face . He was very handsome . Even in the seething of her pain and jealousy Thyra yearned over his beauty . She would have liked to put up her hands and caress his face , but her voice was very hard when she asked him where he had been so late . `` I called in at Tom Blair 's on my way home from the harbor , '' he answered , trying to walk on . But she held him back by his arm . `` Did you go there to see Damaris ? '' she demanded fiercely . Chester was uncomfortable . Much as he loved his mother , he felt , and always had felt , an awe of her and an impatient dislike of her dramatic ways of speaking and acting . He reflected , resentfully , that no other young man in Avonlea , who had been paying a friendly call , would be met by his mother at midnight and held up in such tragic fashion to account for himself . He tried vainly to loosen her hold upon his arm , but he understood quite well that he must give her an answer . Being strictly straight-forward by nature and upbringing , he told the truth , albeit with more anger in his tone than he had ever shown to his mother before . `` Yes , '' he said shortly . Thyra released his arm , and struck her hands together with a sharp cry .
There was a savage note XXXXX it .
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