"No;—certainly not to-day."
"Then I will talk over it with you to-morrow. It wants some thinking;—does it not, mamma?"
"It would not want much with me, Lily."
"But then, mamma, you are not I. Believing as I believe, feeling as I feel, it wants some thinking. That's what I mean."
"I wish I could help you, my dear."
"You shall help me,—to-morrow." The morrow came and Lily was still very patient; but she had prepared herself, and had prepared the time also, so that in the hour of the gloaming she was alone with her mother, and sure that she might remain alone with her for an hour or so. "Mamma, sit there," she said; "I will sit down here, and then I can lean against you and be comfortable. You can bear as much of me as that,—can't you, mamma?" Then Mrs. Dale put her arm over Lily's shoulder, and embraced her daughter. "And now, mamma, we will talk about this wonderful letter."
"I do not know, dear, that I have anything to say about it."
"But you must have something to say about it, mamma. You must bring yourself to have something to say,—to have a great deal to say."
"You know what I think as well as though I talked for a week."
"That won't do, mamma. Come, you must not be hard with me."