Checked by that sign of tears so near, again Sue halted, but without turning. "I want to help her," she urged, a little doggedly.
"But your mother," went on Mrs. Milo, "—my feelings—my love—are you going to trample them under foot?"
"Oh, not that!"
Mrs. Milo fell to weeping. "Oh, what do you care for my peace of mind!" she mourned. "For my heartache!"
It brought Sue to her mother's side. "Why! Why!" She put an arm about the elder woman tenderly.
Mrs. Milo dropped to a chair. "This is the child I bore!" she sobbed. "I've devoted my whole life to her! And now—oh, if your dear father knew! If he could only see——" Words failed her. She buried her face in her handkerchief.
Sue knelt at her side. "Oh, mother! Mother!" she comforted. "Hush, dear! Hush!"
"I'm going to be ill," wept Mrs. Milo. "I know I am! My nerves can't stand it! But it's just as well"—mournfully. "I'm in your way. I can see that. And it's t-t-t-time that I died!" She shook convulsively.
Commands, arguments, appeals, tears—how often Mrs. Milo and her daughter went through the several steps of just such a scene as this. Exactly that often, Sue capitulated, as she capitulated now, with eyes brimming.
"Ah, don't say that, mother," she pleaded. "You'll break my heart! You're my whole life—with Wallace away, why I've got nobody else in the whole world!" And looking up, "Wallace, you go."