She went up-stairs into her mother's room. Mrs. Robson sat propped up in the position that Claire always helped her assume for the doctor's daily visit. Mrs. Robson's dull eyes brightened. She began her illusive mumblings. Claire dropped at attentive ear to her mother's words.
"The doctor," Mrs. Robson was saying, "he should not come every day. It—it is too expensive."
"I am not paying him, mother."
"Oh.... Then he is not coming to see me?"
"Why, of course he is coming to see you, mother! What else would...."
Mrs. Robson shook her head. "I've been thinking, Claire.... Of course, he is not just what I had hoped.... But he is a kind man, Claire. I don't know, but perhaps...."
She tried to lift her helpless hands and draw her daughter's head toward her lips. Claire met the effort half-way.
"He is a kind man, Claire, a kind man," Mrs. Robson kept repeating.
Claire's heart gave a sudden leap.
"We shall see, mother. We shall see."