Tina lay in bed, her arms folded under her head, her happy eyes reflecting the silver space of sky which filled the window. She smiled at Delia through her dream.
“I knew you’d come.”
Delia sat down beside her, and their clasped hands lay upon the coverlet. They did not say much, after all; or else their communion had no need of words. Delia never knew how long she sat by the child’s side: she abandoned herself to the spell of the moonlit hour.
But suddenly she thought of Charlotte, alone behind the shut door of her own room, watching, struggling, listening. Delia must not, for her own pleasure, prolong that tragic vigil. She bent down to kiss Tina goodnight; then she paused on the threshold and turned back.
“Darling! Just one thing more.”
“Yes?” Tina murmured through her dream.
“I want you to promise me—”
“Everything, everything, you darling mother!”
“Well, then, that when you go away tomorrow—at the very last moment, you understand—”
“Yes?”