“He could have found somebody else who could have helped him just as well.”
“But that doesn’t make it any fairer,” insisted Jeannette. “What have you got to show for your twenty-five years of helping Mr. Kipps? ... This!” She spread out her hands significantly.
“Well, I have my old age provided for,” said Miss Holland, with an indulgent smile. “I get my check for half-salary from the office regularly the first of every month. I suppose I’ll continue to get that until my rheumatism or my heart carries me off.”
“But is that any reward for twenty-five years of slavery and drudgery? How many thousand and tens of thousands of dollars have your brains saved the Corey Publishing Company?”
“That isn’t all of it. You must remember I have Jerry.”
§ 3
Yes, she had Jerry, said Jeannette to herself, lying awake that night for long aching hours of whirling thoughts after she was in bed. Miss Holland’s old age was rich in the love this nephew, his wife and children bore her.
And it came to the sleepless woman in the bed that it was not the love Miss Holland received that mattered; it was what she gave and had given that made her life, in spite of old age, rheumatism and growing helplessness, glorious with complete and satisfying happiness.