Kathryn was shedding tears––tears of gratitude for the material Helen was putting at her disposal.
“My dear little Kathryn! It is going to be all right, all right. Why, childie, when he comes home I am going to insist upon the wedding. I am not a young woman, really, though I put up a bit of a bluff––and the time isn’t very long, no matter how you look at it––so, darling, you and Brace must humour me, do the one big thing to make me happy––you must be married!”
Kathryn looked up. The tears hung to her long lashes.
“You want this?” she faltered with quivering lips.
Helen believed she understood at last.
“My darling!” she said tenderly, “it is the one great longing of my heart.”
Then she dropped back on her pillow and closed her eyes while the pain gripped her. But the pain, for a moment, seemed a friend, not a foe. It might be the thing that would open the door––out.
Helen had spoken truth as truth should be but never quite is, to a mother. She had taken her place in the march, her colours flying. But her place was the mother’s place, lagging in the rear.
Such an effort as she had just made caused angels to weep over her.