Well, rest and care helped and the attacks were less frequent. That gave a certain amount of hope.
When Kathryn entered the Workshop she found Helen on the couch instead of at the flat-topped desk. She looked very white and blue-lipped but she was smiling and happily glad to see her visitor. She was extremely fond of Kathryn. 129 Early in life she had prepared herself to accept and love any woman her son might choose––she would never question the gift he offered! But when Kathryn was offered, she was overjoyed. Kathryn was part of the dear, familiar life; the daughter of old friends. Helen Northrup felt that she was blessed beyond all mothers. The thing, to her, seemed so exactly right. That the marriage did not take place had hardly disturbed her. Kathryn was young, Brace was winning, not only a home for the girl, but honour, and there was always time. Time is such a splendid heritage of youth and such a rare relic of age.
“Why, my dearie-dear!” exclaimed Kathryn, kneeling beside the couch. “What is it?”
“Nothing, dear child; nothing more than a vicious touch of neuralgia.”
“Have you seen Doctor Manly?” Kathryn patted the pillows and soothed, by her touch, the hot forehead. Kathryn had the gift of healing in her small, smooth hands, but not in her soul.
She had always been jealous of the love between Brace and his mother. It was so unusual, so binding, so beyond her conception; but she could hide her feelings until by and by.
“Now, dearie-dear, we must send for Doctor Manly. Of course Brace ought to know. He would never forgive us if he did not know. I hate to trouble you but, my dear, you look simply terrifyingly ill.” Like a lightning flash Kathryn’s nimble wits caught a possibility.
Helen smiled. Then spoke slowly:
“Now, my dear, when Brace comes home, I promise to see Doctor Manly. These attacks are severe––but they pass quickly and there are long periods when I am absolutely free from them.”
“You mean, you have attacks?” Kathryn looked appalled.