"Never mind, papa; we'll talk about it later." At last the monotony of repetition soothed him, and he freed her to tuck the clothes about him. But Anne could not bend to kiss him. With all her strength she tried. Her muscles would not obey. She stroked his cheek and, with an extra little pat, said good night and left him. Almost before she was out of the room he was asleep.
Anne went slowly the short distance from the bedroom to the kitchen. The door was ajar and she saw Hilda crocheting, a wad of lace in a soupbowl by her on the table. Years ago Anne and Belle had rebelled against the monstrosity of pineapple edging or star pattern upon their underclothes. Still Hilda persisted in "not wasting time." The darkest crannies of the Niche were filled with these rolls of crochet; they were even tucked away on the pantry shelves.
"One—two—three plain, and four chain," Hilda mumbled.
Anne went in and closed the door. "He did do it. He's lost the insurance, bet it away on a sure thing and it's gone."
"Oh—Anne——"
"Don't cry," Anne went on in the stern tone with which one handles an hysterical child. "It won't get it back. And if I were you I wouldn't say anything to him. It's done. He can't undo it now and he'll have time enough to wish it undone—lying—there—thinking about it."
Hilda forced back the tears. After a moment she heaved a sigh and picked up the edging again. Soon she was lost once more in the intricacies of one—two—three plain, and four chain.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The days went by neither slowly nor quickly, but with a terrible fixity of sameness. The routine of illness, once established, life adjusted itself to nourishment at certain hours, periods of sleep, efforts to entertain James. Even waiting to hear from Belle was reduced to a law, once in the morning post, once in the afternoon. As soon as they received her address they would cable. Till then they had to wait.
With the assumption of all responsibility by Anne, Hilda Mitchell ceased to worry about the future. Her old gayety returned. Sometimes Anne felt that her mother was really enjoying herself more than she had for many years. In this release from the housekeeping cares she had borne so long, she was like a child. She insisted on doing all the errands, and although it sometimes annoyed Anne, on the whole it filled her with tender amusement to find how far Hilda insisted on going for some small, needed thing. Prescriptions she always had filled at night in a big down-town drug store, although there was a small, reliable but very dull little drug store on the corner. She followed food bargains about the city, adding carfare until the article cost more than it would have in her own block.