door. It’s as good as a fireplace when you want to talk.”
He knew she hoped he would tell her more, and he wished he could, but there was nothing to tell. To repeat anything Miss Evison had said—and heaven knows he remembered every word—wouldn’t give a right impression of her at all. You had to see her to get any idea of what she was like. Besides there was something about her whole airy, pleasure-loving, exotic presence that didn’t seem to fit in here. He liked to shut his eyes and picture her as she looked standing under the cluster of rose-shaded lights in the college ballroom, but when he opened them on the neat, square little kitchen, with the wood-box behind the stove and the bleary little lamp throwing shadows in the corners, the vision tortured him with the weight of something irreparably wrong. He started from his reverie, remembering that the last thing his mother had said was to the effect that the stove with the door open was as good as a fireplace.
“We were going to have a fireplace of our own, weren’t we?” he began. “You must be tired waiting for it, but it won’t be long now. If I can get through next year——”
He thought he saw the patient lines draw across her face, but she smiled naturally enough.
“It will be fine to be through,” she said, “but you mustn’t worry about the fireplace yet. And
I must tell you, too, because I have to bring myself to it, that you’re a man now. I want you to have your house and your fireplace and everything just like you want it; but you mustn’t go putting your mother in your plans; it isn’t natural. I’d like to see it all, and I’d be so pleased about it—to know you were happy, but young people want their own life. Only there’s one thing I like to feel safe about—you’ll always look out for Jean? I’m glad I can be sure about that.”
And for the first time, watching her as she stared into the fire, her knitting lying forgotten in her lap, Billy saw the change he had been looking for. He came over and knelt beside her in all a boy’s helplessness, tears swimming unhidden in his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked. “Jean said you were not well. What about it?”
He felt her start, but she smiled back as she had done hundreds of times before when things disturbed him.
“It’s nothing,” she said.