“Richard was the man who leaped over the side and held him until help came.”
“Richard!”
“Yes.”
“And the man who——”
“That was Walter.”
It was cruel, but was there any other way? Cruel and pitiful. In the July twilight Geraldine could see her mother age perceptibly. In a moment she seemed to shrink and fade and grow a shade greyer. The firm lines about her mouth loosened, giving her the look of genial senility. It happens often to those who have led rigid, muscle-tense lives; when they finally go, the result is not a gradual growth but a horrid transformation. Geraldine was frightened. She summoned help from the passengers about her and sent someone off for the doctor.
There was enough fighting spirit left in the aged mother to object to all this attempt to help her, but weakness finally conquered determination; she was forced to give in and let herself be put to bed.
CHAPTER X
THE FAITH OF A TREE
Early the next morning Mrs. Wells appeared as usual on deck and, with apparently the same imposing mien as of old, watched the docking of the S.S. Victoria. Externally she had altered little, but in a moment of conversation with her it was clear both to Geraldine and to Richard that she had “suffered a sea-change into something rich and strange.” Had she packed her bags? Had she locked up the steamer-trunks, paid off the various stewards, arranged for the porterage of trunks in the hold? Not at all. Why should she bother about all that? What were husky young folks for? And what was age for if not to levy tribute upon youth?
Never before had she permitted anyone to do for her. Now she shifted to the other extreme. She would do nothing. And it was not at all unreasonable, she assured Geraldine. Nor was it weakness, but rather the result of strong decision. She willed now to have others take charge of things, she said.