Before the next Saturday aunt Hill's ankle had knit itself up and she was gone. When Stella and her mother sat down to supper in their wonted seclusion, Stella began her deferred task. She was inwardly excited over it, and even a little breathless. It seemed incredible to her, still, that Jerry and she had parted, and it would, she knew, seem so to her mother when she should be told. She sat eating cup-cake delicately, but with an ostentatious relish, to prove the robustness of her state.
"Mother," she began.
"Little more tea?" asked Mrs. Joyce, holding the teapot poised.
"No. I want to tell you somethin'."
"I guess I'll have me a drop more," said Mrs. Joyce. "Nobody need to tell me it keeps me awake. I lay awake anyway."
Stella took another cup-cake in bravado.
"Mother," she said, "Jerry 'n' I've concluded to give it up."
"Give what up?" asked Mrs. Joyce, finding she had the brew too sweet and pouring herself another drop.
"Oh, everything! We've changed our minds."
Mrs. Joyce set down her cup.