Again they leaned apart and regarded one another. Mrs. Farley's inflamed, withered eyelids twitched.
"Do you think Laurence really loves me? I'm so afraid!" Winnie said suddenly.
"Of course, Winnie."
"Oh, Mamma Farley, I want to be happy. I couldn't bear it if Laurence——" She buried her face in Mamma Farley's dress. Mrs. Farley stroked her hair.
"We're all foolish when we're young, but God is good to us. When we grow old we can have a little peace. But you're young enough—even for the kind of thing you want." Her pale mouth had a shriveled look of bitterness. "Love between men and women—the love you are thinking about—is not much in life, Winnie."
"But I couldn't bear not to have—not to have anybody love me."
"Look in the mirror. They'll love you." Mrs. Farley's eyes in her wet, wrinkled face were hard with contempt under the seared granuled lids.
Winnie, lying back, gloated over the thin white hair, the lined flaccid cheeks, and the eyes that glowed with weeping. Winnie swam in the strength of love like a swimmer sure of himself in trusted waters. She was grateful to the age and ugliness which did not claim her.
Mrs. Farley did not want Winnie to gaze at her any more. "Look! Bobby's awake," she said.
Winnie was satisfied and ready to be glad of Bobby, too.