"Nevertheless," said Mrs. Sterling, with a long breath, and beginning to smile, "I am very glad those boys were here to supper."
If her mistress could smile, it wasn't so very black and dreadful after all, and Gibson came enough out of her gloom to mutter, "But look at this room," and she waved her hands in despair.
"Oh, that's nothing," said Mrs. Sterling cheerfully, and then she laughed outright as she glanced around at the effects of the tumult. "Gibson, come here a minute."
The old serving-woman crept out of her chair, and went over to the sofa.
"Do you know"—Mrs. Sterling took her arm and pulled her gently down to a level with the face on the pillow, and her soft eyes twinkled—"it really seems good to see such a muss for once in my life: you do keep me so immaculately fine, Gibson."
"Oh, mistress!" breathed Gibson, aghast.
"And to think I have had boys, actually young life here in this room." Mrs.
Sterling raised herself suddenly to rest on one elbow.
"Mistress—mistress," implored the alarmed Gibson, with restraining hands, "you'll hurt yourself."
"No, I shan't," protested Mrs. Sterling, her eyes beaming, and going on resolutely, "and just to think of boys being here!"—she looked around the room with a sudden affection—"and liking it—for they did, Gibson, they surely did, until the fire started. Oh, it is perfectly beautiful!"
"Well, do lie back, mistress," begged Gibson, thumping up the pillows invitingly, "else those dreadful creatures will finish you entirely."