"She sighed. Close to her Sister Italia stirred, then rose from her knees and led the way from the chapel. The editor followed. At the outer door of the main building Sister Italia asked a question.
"'Did you offer your three prayers?' she wanted to know.
"The editor reflected. 'I offered two,' she said, slowly. Then a sudden memory came to her, and she smiled. 'Why, yes,' she said, 'I offered all three, without realizing it.'"
The Best Seller interrupted. He was an irrepressible person. "It's still too somber," he said. "But I see now how it can be lightened a bit. Take your cue from the musicians. They're playing the Maxixe."
"Hush!" begged the woman with the blue eyes. She turned them on me. There was an odd mist over their cold brilliance. "Please go on, Miss Iverson," she said, gently.
I glanced at the Best Seller. "I'll lighten it a bit," I promised.
The face of the Best Seller brightened. "Good for you!" he exclaimed, elegantly.
"The editor went home," I resumed. "She was very tired and still very much discouraged. The long, hot ride had dispelled the memory of her moments of peace. As she put her key in the lock of her door the old mother heard the sound and came trotting down the hall to meet her. She always did that, and usually she had a dozen questions to ask. Was the editor tired? Had she had a hard day? Had it been very hot in her office? But to-night she asked none of these. She came straight to the editor and laid her hands on the other's shoulders; her face held an odd look, apologetic, almost frightened.
"'Oh, my dear,' she quavered. 'I have a confession to make to you. I have been false to a sacred trust.'
"The editor laughed and led her back into the living-room, where she seated her in a big chair by an open window. She did not believe the old lady had ever been false to any trust, and she was very anxious to get out of her working-clothes and into cool garments.