Baron fancied there was an expression of triumph in the manager’s bearing. “You mean now—to-night?” he asked.
“Why not to-night? I’m eager to have her; really eager, now that I’ve decided.”
“It’s quite simple,” declared Thornburg. “I suppose you’ll have to—to get a few things ready?”
Her whole being became tremulous—she who had had no children of her own, and who knew nothing about them. “Nothing to-night, to speak of. To-morrow....” She clasped her hands and looked into vacancy, as if visions were coming to her.
But Thornburg was already in an adjoining room at the telephone, ordering his machine.
Baron regarded Mrs. Thornburg thoughtfully. He was surprised and touched by her intensity. Then she looked at him, mutely appealing. There was a long moment during which two minds tried to meet across a barrier of emotion and a lack of mutual knowledge. Then Mrs. Thornburg spoke.
“You know,” she explained, “we’ve both been disappointed, deeply disappointed, because we hadn’t any of our own.”
When Thornburg’s automobile stopped before the Baron mansion, half an hour later that evening, and the manager and Baron got out, something happened.
Mrs. Baron, her gray hair stirring slightly in the spring breeze, stood on the front steps for all the world like an alert sentinel.
“Well, Victor?” she demanded, as her son advanced toward her. Her voice was sternly challenging.