CHAPTER XXI
THE PLAY BEGINS
"I shall take you over, myself," said Helen to her daughter as they rose from the breakfast table that first day of October. "And I shall show you carefully just how to come back this afternoon; but I'm afraid I shall have to let you come back alone, dear. In the first place, I shouldn't know when you were ready; and in the second place, I shouldn't want to go and wait for you."
"Of course not!" cried Betty. "As if I'd let you—and you don't even have to go with me. I can find out by asking."
"No, I shall go with you." Betty noticed that her mother's cheeks were very pink and her eyes very bright. "Don't forget the doctor's letter; and remember, dear, just be—be your own dear sweet self."
"Why, mother, you're—crying!" exclaimed the dismayed Betty.
"Crying? Not a bit of it!" The head came proudly erect.
"But does it mean so much to you that I—that I—that he—likes me?" asked Betty softly.
The next moment, alarmed and amazed, she found her mother's convulsive arms about her, her mother's trembling voice in her ears.