“Why, you don’t want to make her you?” she asked wonderingly.
“Well, I guess her time isn’t over valuable,” she said slowly. “Anyway, I wouldn’t put on my things yet.”
They waited, the one all a-quiver with anticipation, the other gazing, not down the street, but at the child, her round, usually placid face now lengthened by lines of tenderness and pain.
The automobile did not come back. Finally Aunt Sophie crept quietly away to the kitchen, where she could not see the little white face by the window. The child was still scanning the road hopefully when, just before six o’clock, the big car returned to the garage, empty except for the liveried driver.
Aunt Sophie entered the room in her preparations for tea.
“She didn’t come,” needlessly announced the small voice. “I guess she thought she’d wait till to-morrow.”
The little woman sighed softly.
“I think she’ll come to-morrow,” went on the voice in cheerful tone.
“Maybe,” returned Aunt Sophie.