"But you don't think I ought to do it?"
"That is for you to decide. You say you have found a nurse?"
"Yes."
"Did Dr. Henrietta Gilbert suggest this to you?"
Catherine's head came up at that, but her irritation scurried off into amusement; her mother looked so guileless, stitching with busy fingers.
"You don't see, then, that I can't help it? That I must try something? Oh, Mother, I've thought and thought——"
"Yes, that's just it. You think too much. You always thought, Cathy. That's why I was relieved when you met Charles. You didn't think much for a while, at least, and I hoped"—Mrs. Spencer was looking at her, her head on one side, her eyes bright, her mouth turning up in a funny little smile—"I hoped your thinking days were over. But it's in the air so. Women seem to take pride in being restless, unhappy. We were taught to consider that a sin."
"Is that why you're so nice?"
"No." Mrs. Spencer smiled. "Maybe my children were smarter than yours. I didn't find them such bad company."
"Oh, that's not it!" Catherine cried out. Then she laughed. "Mother, you're outrageous. You're making fun of me, just as if——"