Hildegarde opened a drawer. “I’ll put them in here till things come right again.”
“Things aren’t ever coming right.”
“Bella!”
Not till she heard the drawer shut did the girl turn from the window, and Hildegarde could see that the small face was quivering.
“Bella, dear!” Her friend swept to her on a sudden wave of pity. “It will all come right.”
But the younger girl drew back. Although her tears were brimming she spoke with a certain half-choked hardness: “I’ve hurried mother back as fast as boats and trains could bring us; just to be with you again, but not to hear you say that. I wanted to be with you just because you will know better. Hildegarde—I—I’d like to stay with you awhile. May I?”
“I want nothing so much—we all want you.”
“Trenn, too?” she actually laughed through her tears. What a queer creature.
“Trenn, too. Only”—Hildegarde glanced from the empty place on the altar-table, to the shut drawer—“only you’ll be kind enough not to break Trenn’s heart as well.”