“That’s fine, dear. It will do you a lot of good. I’ll sponge and press your blue suit and have it all ready for you.”
If a bride were being dressed, there couldn’t have been more excitement in a home than there was in the little flat on Saturday night, when Howard prepared to go to the dance. Marjorie had laid all his things out on his bed during the afternoon. His suit nicely cleaned and pressed, a beautifully laundered shirt, his tie, collar, handkerchief—everything was ready.
“Why, mother,” he laughed, as she bustled about, handing him his things. “I feel like a girl getting ready for my first party! I really believe you’re enjoying all this.”
“I am, dear,” she answered, her cheeks bright with excitement.
“Well, I’m ready.” He stepped back from the mirror. “Do I look all right?”
“I never saw anyone like you!” She clasped her hands and looked at him adoringly. “All the girls will be fighting over you! You’re so handsome, dear.”
“Mother, you’re a little flatterer.” He caught her up in his strong arms to dance about the room with her.
“Oh, please, dear—please don’t!” she screamed. Her face paled, and she held her hand to her side.
“Why, mother—you’re ill! What’s wrong with you?” He placed her gently on the bed and knelt beside her.
“It’s—it’s—nothing, dear.” She forced a smile to her lips.