Together the two girls worked, Irene folding and wrapping the things as Mary Louise sorted them.
“All of this pile goes to the Salvation Army; these things to Uncle Eben and these to Mr. Curtiss. I want Uncle Peter Conant to have his silver-headed cane. His fur-lined overcoat I have saved for Danny.”
Finally, the clothes were all neatly wrapped and tied up, each with a label written in Irene’s clear legible handwriting. It was difficult for Irene to write evenly with her hand trembling with emotion at the thought of the ordeal ahead of her. She felt it would be best to wait for her friend to get the business in hand finished before she had anything more to bear, and so she waited until the last string was tied, the last bundle labeled, and Uncle Eben had come and carried them all off to be delivered at his convenience, before she broached the subject uppermost in her heart.
“Mary Louise, I have something to tell you,” she began.
“Yes, darling, I know you have.”
“Oh, you do?”
“I have known it all morning, ever since you came in the room. I am ready to hear now. What is it, Irene?”
For a moment Irene could not speak. She shut her eyes and prayed for strength. If Mary Louise could be so calm, it was not for her to break down.
“Has it—has it something to do with—with Danny?” For a moment Mary Louise grasped a chair for support. Her breath came in gasps. Then she gathered her forces, stiffened up and smiled wanly. “I’ve felt it all along. What is it? You can tell me dear—I have touched bottom, as it were, in misery and unhappiness and I can bear anything.”