But to Horatia it was serious. How close to death people went for their babies, she thought tremulously! To do a thing like that one must be sure of great love. Would she some day be like that silent figure? She shivered in sudden horror. A man came out of a room and paced up and down silently, his face gray with pain. The nurse, passing, spoke to him reassuringly.
“A couple of hours,” she said, “she’s doing fine.”
The man tried to smile and failed. Horatia shivered again. This was the grim side of love. It frightened her.
“You wanted to see Mrs. Gordon?” Still another nurse beckoned. “Go down to 434. Go right in.”
She opened the door a little timidly and a figure on the bed turned slowly toward her. Horatia gasped.
“Grace!”
Grace nodded and smiled. She was pale and her yellow hair in two long braids was beautiful.
“No less than Grace.”
“But I never guessed.”
“I didn’t mean that you should. Or anyone else. That’s the idea in being Mrs. Gordon.”