“Don’t be so naughty!” she said. “There! Sit up and read your letters until the bath’s run.”
The tiled bathroom was dazzling in the sunlight. The nickel fittings flashed like silver, and the water filling the tub was a wonderful translucent green.
“Mother!” Joyce called out. “Uncle Thomas has sent a check and an awfully sweet letter!”
Mrs. Holland pretended not to hear. She could not speak just then. She sat on the edge of the tub, staring down into the shimmering, greenish water, and even her child’s voice sounded very far away. The last moment was almost here. In a few hours Joyce would be gone.
“I must not spoil her day,” she thought. “I’ve got to be brave, just until she goes; and then—then I don’t care.”
The water had risen high enough. She turned off the tap and went back into the bedroom.
“All ready!” she said cheerfully. “Don’t dawdle, sweetheart.”
“I won’t, mother,” Joyce promised.
She had dried her tears, now. She was very grave, but quite composed.
“That’s exactly how she looked when she went to apologize to grandma for losing the family photographs,” thought Mrs. Holland. “She was a tiny girl, then, and she was wearing that funny little plaid dress. She doesn’t look any older now. She’s so young—so young!”