"It is this confounded writing plays--and stewing veal!" she murmured, and stared at herself desperately. She had the eyes of the exile who never for one moment forgets his exile; only, it was not one country she mourned but many. Poor Val! she was too, that rare unhappy thing, a born lover. Never for one moment was the man she loved out of her mind; always, always he was there, haunting the rooms of her memory and the chapelle ardente of her heart, perfuming every thought, influencing every action. Because of him she cried aloud now:
"I will have it cut off, Haidee. Go and tell the barber to come this afternoon. I 'll have it cut close--shaved--so that it must grow thick again. I won't be an old woman without hair! Oh, Haidee--an old bald hag whom no one loves!" Desolation crept into her voice, it had long dwelt in her eyes.
"Don't be a silly, Val," said matter-of-fact Haidee. "I love you and Bran loves you and Garry loves you."
"No, no--Garry hates me--he never writes!" She flung herself into a chair, and two of the salt bitter tears that were always lurking in the background, but which she seldom shed, oozed out of her eyes as if they had come from a long distance and gave her great pain. Haidee made no attempt to comfort her, but presently went out of the house to where Bran was just casting off anchor from the Jules in view of a voyage to New York.
"Val 's crying," she said briefly.
"What for?" asked Bran, but immediately letting go anchor and beginning to climb in a business-like way over the side of the boat. The eye that he cocked at Haidee was of the same smoke-blue as his mother's, and held the same wistful lion-cub glance.
"Just the old yellow snake," said Haidee, already on her way back to put on the potatoes, for well she knew that if she did not there would be none for lunch that day.
Bran found Val swiftly, and climbing upon her knees began to kiss her wet eyes. She kissed him back passionately, holding him with such convulsive tightness that he was at last obliged to give a small howl.
"O--h! you're hurting me, Mammie--just a little bit."
She kissed him again then, comforting him, reproaching herself, and drying away her tears in his bright hair.