"Bobby—Bobby, my darling!" She hugged him to her, trying to wring from him some assurance that she would be with him when she was gone.
Allowing himself to be kissed, he stirred an instant and was calm. He was water, broad and profound. Winnie felt herself sinking into his passive depths. "Oh, Bobby!"
"You hurts my arm."
She drew away from him and felt part of her still there, lost in his passive clearness.
"You won't forget Mamma? Mamma Farley will help you write me letters. You know how you can print—nice printing with pictures? I'm going to bring you something beautiful. Grandma Price and I are going to bring you something—oh, lovely!"
"Yes, my dear. We'll have something nice for a good little boy who doesn't forget us." Mrs. Price touched his hair with taut, wistful gestures.
Winnie's cheeks were bright.
Mrs. Price had on a trim black traveling suit of handsome cloth and a simple but distinguished hat, very precisely worn.
"Is Laurie upstairs, Mamma Farley?"
Mrs. Farley looked up, abstracted. She dangled in the general emotion like a puppet suspended over a torrent, swayed but unmoved. "I think so, dear." She tried not to see Mrs. Price, so like herself but lifted up by social confidence.