"Forgive me, mother," said Avery, tenderly. "Forgive me! You have gone through so much to-day. I should have waited; but—but I love her so. I need her so—I need her to help me think right. Can you understand?"
Mrs. Foster moved to one side and held out both arms to her daughter.
"Sit by me," she said, huskily, and Gertrude gathered her in her young, strong arms.
"Can I understand?" half sobbed Katherine from her daughter's shoulder. "Can I understand? Oh, I do! I do! and I am so happy for you both; but she—she is my daughter, and it is so hard to let her go—even to you! It is so hard!"
Gertrude could not speak. She tried to look at her lover, but tears filled her eyes. She was holding her mother's hand to her lips.
"Dear little mamma," she whispered; "dear little mamma, I shall never go if it makes you unhappy—never, if it breaks my heart. But mamma, I love you more because I love him; and—"
"I know, I know," said Katherine, trying to struggle out of her heartache which held back and beyond itself a tender joy for these two. "But love is so selfish. I am glad. I am glad for you both—but—oh, my daughter, I love you, I love you!" she said, and choked down a sob to smile in the girl's eyes.
Mr. Foster was waiting for them in the library. They were late. He had been thinking.
"Well, I'm tremendously glad you're back," he said brightly, kissing his wife, and then he took Gertrude in his arms. "Sweetheart," he said, smiling down into her eyes, "if I seemed harsh to-day, I'm sorry. I only did it because I thought it was for your own good. You know that."
"Why, papa," she said, with her cheek against his own; "of course I know. Of course I understand. We all did. You don't mind if we did not see your way? You—"