The Attertons all laughed—not because there was anything to laugh at—but because the schoolmaster’s saying had passed into one of those family jokes which are so dear and silly. For this is age—when there is no one left who knows the family jokes—when there is nobody in all the world to whom an idiotic remark means youth and hope and the golden days gone by.
“Oh, well,” said Norah, coming to the rescue with the freemasonry that exists between sisters, “one lamp-post is enough in any family, isn’t it?”
She stood near the window, erect, smiling, alert, so exceedingly able to take care of herself and other people too, if necessary. And she continued, after looking out at some one passing, “I forgot—we’re going to have another in the family soon—here she is!”
A moment later Mrs. Stamford was ushered in, or rather she did not wait for that, but hurried on ahead of the panting Edwards and across the expanse of carpet that separated her from Mrs. Atterton.
“My dear—I’m so glad—I’m so glad——”
It was significant that her unusual outburst of emotion did not culminate, as would have been natural, upon Elizabeth’s shoulder, but upon that of the girl’s mother. For once the ideas and traditions of a lifetime were in abeyance, and she came straight, swept along by an overwhelming tide of relief and thankfulness, to the one person in the world who would understand.
“You’ve walked all the way?” said Mrs. Atterton, patting the hard, slim hand of her visitor. “How sweet of you to come like this.”
Mrs. Stamford half turned to Elizabeth.
“I’m so delighted, Elizabeth, my dear, I can never say how delighted——”
Then she somehow became aware of the other people in the room, and sat up straight, remarking hastily, “Cold coming on. Been taking quinine. Always makes me so excitable. Only thing that does. I could drink a hogshead of port—but quinine!”