“I most sincerely hope you will have it finished in time,” said Mary, warmly. “I only wish I could enter more heartily into school work.”
“I can’t truthfully say I love all of it,” admitted Gloria, “but I have always been interested in trying to write. You see, my dad does some writing although he is in business.”
“I suppose one must inherit that sort of thing,” replied Mary wistfully.
“Every one has her own talent,” said Gloria hopefully. “If you don’t like writing you may like——”
“Nursing. I did love to nurse little Jack. But then, you see, my own dear mother—only lately died.” Mary turned away, biting her lip.
Instantly Gloria’s irritation gave way to sympathy. To lose a mother! And perhaps one who was a real companion!
“Mine is gone also, Mary,” she said very gently, “but it wasn’t so bad for me. I was very young and I have always had dad.”
“My father is far away. I barely remember him, although he attends, through his lawyers, to my every need. He is very generous but also very remote. I might have gone with him or stayed with mother. Naturally I stayed with mother.”
“Was she ill long?” Gloria asked kindly.
“One year. But in that time we were together and even her illness seemed less to me than the continuous separation we had been having through her—profession.” This last word was hesitantly chosen.