They sat stunned and stared at the slip of a girl in pink who was speaking in so matter-of-fact a fashion.
And then Seth Curtis laughed; but he laughed kindly.
"Why," he shouted, "she can't only sing; she can preach too—woman suffrage and prohibition."
The laugh grew and smiles went round and the whole trying situation eased up. Jocelyn laughed too and turned to say good night to her host. And from somewhere in the crowd Frank Burton strode up and carried Jim out and drove him home.
Everybody began to get ready to go, glad that the evening so nearly tragic had been happily saved. And all Green Valley mentally promised to repay the girl who had had the wit and the sweetness to serve in an hour of need.
But while the young people and the married ones with children were crowding out through the front door, Grandma Wentworth was still in the library, staring up into the laughing eyes of the dearest friend life had given her and taken away.
"Cynthia, dear," whispered Grandma brokenly, "it is still here, the thing that hurt you so—that made a widow of me at twenty-eight. We have grown no wiser in spite of the pain."
Sitting in the armchair that Jocelyn had pulled out for Jim Tumley was Roger Allan. His face was a-quiver with pain. And he too was staring hungrily at the pictured face.
"Oh, Roger," wept Grandma, "if only we could have her back, her and Richard."
"Yes," hoarsely whispered he, "if only the years would come back and we could have another chance to live them."