“We’re leaving for Europe to-morrow, mother,” she announced. “May I come out to see you before we go?”
“I really can’t see why you should wish to see me, Elinor,” she answered as coolly as her daughter had spoken, but her heart was beating madly.
“Well, I’m going a long ways from here, and somehow—I should like you—to wish me luck.” There was a little sob in her voice.
“I do wish you the best luck in the world—always,” Marjorie replied heartily; “only I don’t feel as if I could stand seeing you just yet.”
“I’m sorry, mother. Good-by.”
Marjorie heard the receiver click at the other end of the line.
Elinor and Hugh had passed out of her life.
When she discovered her funds dwindling away to almost nothing, she endeavored to economize in every possible way. She gave up their rooms in the hotel where Howard had fallen ill, and moved into a back-room in a private dwelling close to the sanitarium, explaining to Howard that she had made the change in order to be nearer him.
One morning, she entered Howard’s room, expecting to find him sitting up in bed finishing his breakfast as usual. To her great surprise, he rushed toward her and grabbed her in his arms. He was dressed for the street, while his suitcase stood in the corner, packed and strapped.
“Hello, dearest!” he cried, kissing her fondly, “what do you think of your boy now?”