"Pshaw! What's the use of worrying, little woman? Whatever schemes they had must be out of joint by now. Sometimes I think I must be dreaming, little girl."
"I am not little. I'm almost as tall as you are."
"You are vastly taller in many ways."
"Don't be too sure. I am human; I have my moods. I am sometimes crotchety; sometimes unjust and quick of temper."
"All right; I want you, temper and all, just the same."
"But will they like me? Won't they think I'm an adventuress, or something like that?"
"Bless your heart, not in a thousand years! I'm a pretty wise man in some ways, and they know it."
And so it proved to be. Both Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer greeted them at the pier in Hoboken. One glance at the face of the girl was sufficient. Mrs. Mortimer held out her arms. It was a very fine thing to do.
"I was in doubt at first," she said frankly. "George is so guileless. But to look at you, my child, would scatter the doubts of a Thomas. Will you let me be your mother, if only for a little while?" with a wise and tender smile.
Shyly Fortune accepted the embrace. Never had she been so happy. Never had she felt arms like these about her.