Miss Elder moved uneasily in her chair. She laid her small embroidery hoop on the table, and straightened out the loose threads of silk, the doctor watching her impatiently.
"I'm too old," she said at length.
Jane Bellair laughed aloud, shortly.
"Old!" she cried. "You're five years younger than I am. You're only thirty-six! Old! Why, child, your life's before you—to make."
"You don't realize, Jane. You struck out for yourself so young—and you've grown up out there—it seems to be so different—there."
"It is. People aren't afraid to move. What have you got here you so hate to leave, Rella?"
"Why, it's—Home."
"Yes. It's home—now. Are you happy in it?"
"I'm—contented."