XIV
PA STEPS ASIDE
They wept together for a long time, Ella and Rose-Marie. And as they cried something grew out of their common emotion. It was a something that they both felt subconsciously—a something warm and friendly. It might have been a new bond of affection, a new chain of love. Rose-Marie, as she felt it, was able to say to herself—with more of tolerance than she had ever known—
"If I had been as tempted and as unhappy as she—well, I might, perhaps, have reacted in the same way!"
And Ella, sobbing in the arms of the girl that she had never quite understood, was able to tell herself: "She's right—dead right! The straight road's the only road…."
It was little Lily who created a diversion. She had been standing, very quietly, in the shelter of their arms for some time—she had a way of standing with an infinite patience, for hours, in one place. But suddenly, as if drawn by some instinct, she dropped down on the floor, beside the cheap suit-case, and her small hands, shaking with eagerness, started to take out the clothes that had been flung into it.
It was uncanny, almost, to see the child so happily beginning to unpack the suit-case. The sight dried Rose-Marie's tears in an almost miraculous way.
"Let's put away the things," she suggested shakily, to Ella. "For you won't be going now, will you?"
The face that Ella Volsky lifted was a changed face. Her expression was a shade more wistful, perhaps, but the somber glow had gone out of her eyes, leaving them softer than Rose-Marie had supposed possible.
"No, Miss," she said quietly, "I won't be going—away. You're right, it ain't worth the price!" And the incident, from that moment, was closed.