"I hope you'll be better soon, Fred," she encouraged. "Our country fare'll put some flesh on your bones.... You look after the invalid, Ebenezer, and I'll take Madelene upstairs."
The two women walked upstairs together. Waldstricker gazed after them, pride and joy in his eyes. His wife and his sister reunited brought him a feeling of content. Frederick, fussing with his coat and rubbers, seemed hardly aware of their going.
"I'm glad to have you back, Fred," began Waldstricker, anxious to express the gratification he felt.
"We're glad to get back, of course," Frederick responded coldly. He followed the elder into the library and threw himself on a lounge to rest until dinner.
In the room above, Helen helped Madelene off with her things and listened to her chatter about the journey. She could detect a sullen dissatisfaction with Frederick running like a dark thread through the current of her talk. It was clear to Helen that Madelene had lost her regard for her husband. Apparently, she cared so little that she didn't feel it necessary to hide or explain her feelings.
"And, now I want to see little Elsie," gushed Madelene. "I've been crazy to see her ever since she was born."
"She's such a darling," smiled Helen, "and is the very joy of her father's heart.... Come on in the nursery."
For a few seconds Madelene leaned over the sleeping child, a rosy child with thick blonde curls. A keen sense of the emptiness of her own arms stirred in her an envy of the complacent young matron standing at the foot of the little white bed. Perhaps Fred would've been different if they'd had a little one.
"I'd love to have a baby," she breathed discontentedly. "But—"
During the significant pause, Helen linked her arm through the speaker's.