"Norma, why don't you stay here, too—your husband's in Philadelphia," Leslie asked her. "Do! We shall have so much to do——"
"We haven't seen the will, but I believe Judge Lee is going to bring it on Wednesday," Annie said, "and Chris said that Mama left you—well, I don't know what! I wish you could arrange to stay the rest of the week, at least!"
"I will!" Norma agreed. She had been feeling neglected and lonely, and this unexpected friendliness was heartwarming.
"You've been a real comfort," Annie said, good-naturedly. "You're such a sensible child, Norma. I hope one of these days—afterward"—and Annie faintly indicated with her eyebrows the direction of the front room from which the funeral procession would start to-morrow—"afterward, that you'll let us know your husband better. And now it's long past midnight, girls, and you ought to be in bed!"
It was mere casual civility on Annie's part, as accidental as had been her casual unkindness a few hours before. But it lifted Norma's heart, and she went out into the hall in a softer frame of mind than she had known for a long time. She managed another word with Chris before going to her room for almost nine hours of reviving and restoring sleep.
"Chris, I feel terribly about breaking this news to Aunt Annie and Leslie while they feel so badly about Aunt Alice and Aunt Marianna!" she said. Again Chris gave the hallway, where she had met him, a quick, uneasy scrutiny before he answered her:
"Well, of course! But it can't be helped."
"But do you think that we could put it off until Wednesday, Chris, when the will is to be read? Everyone will be here then, and it would seem a good time to do it!"
"Yes," he consented, after a moment's thought, "I think that is a good idea!" And so they left it.