"And when one has lived in their children as I have done, of course, one feels a little bit lost without them. Then, if Oliver were not obliged to be away so much——"
Her voice broke, and Susan, leaning forward impulsively, put her arms about her.
"Jinny, darling, I never saw you depressed before."
"I was never like this until to-day. It must be the weather—or my age. I suppose I shall get over it."
"Of course you will get over it—but you mustn't let it grow on you. You mustn't be too much alone."
"How can I help it? Oliver will be away almost all winter, and when he is at home, he is so absorbed in his work that he sometimes doesn't speak for days. Of course, it isn't his fault," she added hastily; "it is the only way he can write."
"And you're alone now for the first time for twenty-five years. That's why you feel it so keenly."
The look of unselfish goodness which made Virginia's face almost beautiful at times passed like an edge of light across her eyes and mouth. "Don't worry about me, Susan. I'll get used to it."
"You will, dear, but it isn't right. I wish Harry could have stayed in Dinwiddie. He would have been such a comfort to you."
"But I wouldn't have had him do it! The boy is so brilliant. He has a future before him. Already he has had several articles accepted by the magazines"—her face shone—"and I hope that he will some day be as successful as Oliver has been without going through the long struggle."