The chauffeur regarded it in silence for a minute; then he picked it up disdainfully, swung it in the air to emphasize its lightness, and went out.
"Don’t be all night!" he called back.
His effrontery was amazing to Mrs. Kennedy. She couldn’t help but feel suspicious of a lady whose servants spoke to her so disrespectfully.
Mrs. Russell, instead of being angry, seemed alarmed.
"Make haste, please!" she said. "It’s late."
She beckoned to Angelica, who followed at her heels. They went out, and the front door closed after them.
Mrs. Kennedy sank into the rocking-chair and put her head down on her folded arms, on the table. She had an odd and horrible sensation, such as a fast-walking man might feel at coming suddenly up against a high wall. She was at the end—the end of something. She was like a tired, mercilessly driven horse whose rider has jumped off. Those twenty years of drudgery, the struggle to "keep up a home," the debts so painfully met, the persecutions and indignities endured, all for that girl who had gone off with only a smile over her shoulder! She groaned—a sound which startled even herself. It was all so wasted, so utterly done with now!
Then like a whirlwind came Angelica back again, seized the little woman in her arms, and strained her against her thin body.
"Mommer!" she cried with a sob. "Dear, dear darling old mommer! I had to come—just to say good-by alone. Don’t be sad, deary mommer, please! It’s only for a little while, you know!"
"No!" said her mother’s heart. "You will never come back. I have lost you!"