“Well!” she said cheerfully. “That seems to be all!”
Mrs. Maxwell rose heavily from her chair.
“Jessica,” she said, not very steadily, “we’re going to miss you!”
Mrs. Deane also rose.
“Whoever else takes this room,” she added sternly, “it won’t be you—and I don’t care what any one says, either!”
Mrs. Champney put an arm about each of them and smiled at them affectionately. She was, in their old eyes, quite a young woman, full of energy and courage, trim and smart in her dark suit and her debonair little hat; but she had never before felt so terribly old and discouraged.
She couldn’t even tell these dear old friends that she would see them again soon, for in order to see them she would have either to get the money for the railway ticket from her son, or else to invite them to her daughter-in-law’s house. It hurt her to leave them like this—and it was only the beginning.
At this point the landlady came toiling up the stairs.
“The taxi’s here, Mrs. Champney,” she said, with a sigh. “My, how empty the room does look!”
So Mrs. Champney kissed the old ladies and went downstairs. The two servants were waiting in the hall to say good-by to her. She smiled at them. Then the landlady opened the front door, and Mrs. Champney went out of the house, still smiling, went down the steps, and got into the taxi.