“Your father’s going there as soon as he has had breakfast. He told me to tell you that if that clasp isn’t ready, he’ll buy you another necklace.”
“But I want the one that daddy picked out! I—oh, mother!”
The girl stretched out her arms, with tears raining down her face; but for an instant Mrs. Holland did not respond. She stood motionless, with an odd, stony look, as if beyond measure affronted by those tears.
“Oh, no, no!” she cried in her heart. “How can I stand this?”
“Mother!”
She sat down on the edge of the bed, took her child in her arms, and stroked the ruffled head that lay against her breast.
“Don’t, my darling,” she said gently. “It’s not right. It’s not kind to Nick.”
“I c-can’t help it,” Joyce answered in a stifled voice. “You and daddy—my own darling people—”
“You must help it, my sweetheart. You’ve eaten nothing at all. I’m going to run your bath, now, and afterward Hilda will bring you some hot coffee and toast.”
She disengaged the clinging arms from about her neck, and took both the girl’s hands in her own. She looked steadfastly into her child’s face, and still smiled.