The day of Danny’s sailing came and went. She had received a letter from him every day since he left Dorfield, sometimes written on the train, sometimes at a wayside station. On the day of sailing, came a telegram saying he had received her letter and was happier than he had been for a long time. She then resigned herself to the fact that she could not hear from him for weeks and weeks. It takes a long time to get to China and a long time for letters to come from there.
The girls were lovely to her. All of them knew the trials under which she was living, but they respected her silence in regard to her suffering and nobody said a word. All the time she could spare from her grandfather she spent at the Higgledy Piggledy Shop.
“It is so nice and cheerful and busy here,” she said to Josie one day. “I used to think my home was beautiful, but now it seems kind of like a great mausoleum. Any more bonnets for me to trim?”
Josie nodded cheerfully.
“Yes, two more! You seem to have the knack of making mourning bonnets look cheerful. How’s Colonel Hathaway feeling these days, Mary Louise?”
Josie was the one person to whom Mary Louise could talk concerning her affairs. She had wanted to take Irene into her confidence too but, since her grandfather had made the absurd charges against his old friend Peter Conant, she had hesitated to bring the subject up with Irene. Irene felt a certain estrangement, but her faith in Mary Louise was strong and true and she was sure it would all come right in the end. She could not help seeing the burden her little friend was bearing and was determined not to add to it one iota with foolish hurt feelings and small jealousies, although her feelings were a little hurt and she was a tiny bit jealous that Josie should be the one to share the troubles of Mary Louise. She knew it was the case because often she found the two girls whispering together in a corner of the shop and always, when there was an errand to be done, Mary Louise and Josie would go together to attend to it. Irene only hoped she could keep her hurt feelings from the knowledge of Mary Louise and never let anyone know that the green-eyed monster, Jealousy, had her in his clutch.
At home it was dismal enough.
It was plain to see that Colonel Hathaway was failing, failing not only in mind but in body. His step had become slow and faltering and his once steady hand shook with palsy. Still, he made his way to the business part of town every day and was occupied constantly with his affairs. Peter Conant had offered repeatedly to help him in any way, but had been rebuffed so decidedly that he had become offended.
“James Hathaway can’t speak to me as he did and not hurt me,” he had declared to his wife.
“But, Peter, you and Irene both said he was evidently not quite himself. You should remember that.”