"She left at six. I supposed you had instructed her to stay here until you came."
"I told her to run along." Flora stopped at the doorway, her red flowers bobbing over the brim of her hat. "I says I'd stay. An' those chillun was all right one minute and the next they wasn't."
"Where's Spencer?" Catherine rose. She had waited a long time for a bus, but it was just past six.
"In the bathroom, washing off the blood," said Charles, severely. "He was wiping Letty's face when I came in."
"She fell on the radiator," went on Marian, "an' I told her not to——"
"It's all right now." Charles set Letty on her feet, and patted her damp head. "But you surely ought to insist on that woman's filling your place, since you aren't here."
"I shall." Catherine's eyes sought his with a defiant entreaty. "It isn't very serious, after all," she finished, in white quiet. As she went into her room to leave her wraps and brush up her hair, she found her hands trembling, and her knees. She sat down at the window for a moment. Of course, she thought, they are my responsibility. That's only just. But he needn't hurry so to hold me up to blame. As if they planned it—a staged rebuke for my entrance. Spencer was at the door, his eyes large and serious.
"Hello, son!" Catherine shoved aside the tight bitterness, and smiled.
"Oh, Moth-er!" He ran across to her, burying his head for a brief instant on her shoulder. "I thought—I thought she was dead. Only she hollered too loud."