They looked at each other, and Joyce’s lip quivered, but Mrs. Holland still smiled.[Pg 409]
“I must bear this,” she told herself. “I must, and I can.”
She pulled the table close to the bedside, poured out a cup of coffee, and put cream and sugar into it, just as Joyce always liked it. Then she lifted the silver cover from the toast.
“Poor Hilda was so disappointed!” she said. “She wanted to bring the tray herself. Come now, my pet! There, there!”
Joyce’s eyes were still fixed upon her mother’s face.
“This won’t do!” said Mrs. Holland, and then, with that gracious gayety which so few were ever permitted to see in her, she tied a napkin about the girl’s neck and began to feed her—a spoonful of coffee, a bit of toast, a spoonful of coffee.
“Spoiled little thing!” she scolded. “Naughty little thing, when there’s so much to be done to-day!”
“I know it!” cried Joyce, sitting up straight. “Mother, what shall we do about old Mrs. Marriott’s candlesticks? When she comes and doesn’t see them with the other presents, she’ll be so frightfully hurt!”
“I found them last night in a hat box,” replied Mrs. Holland, laughing.
“And, mother, suppose the jeweler hasn’t got that new clasp ready?”