And that was Robert’s way. The very thought of it stopped the dreaded invasion of tears and made her smile to herself in the dark. Such a splendidly honest way—and so devastating!
The taxi had stopped now, and Robert helped her out in a manner that made her feel very, very old and frail.
“Wait till I pay the driver, mother,” he said. “Don’t try to go alone—it’s too dark.”
So Mrs. Champney waited in the dark road outside that strange little house. Her son was paying for the cab; her son was going to assist her up the path; she was old and helpless and dependent.
Then the front door opened, and Molly stood there against the light.
“Hello, mother dear!” she called, in that big, rich, beautiful voice of hers. “Hurry in! It’s cold!”
Mrs. Champney did hurry in, and Molly caught her in both arms and hugged her tight.
“Just don’t mind very much how things are, will you?” she whispered. “My housekeeping’s pretty awful, you know!”
Tears came to Mrs. Champney’s eyes again, because this was such a blessed sort of welcome.
“As if I’d care!” she said.