“Yes, dear,” he said, smiling at her; “I had it all written before. You didn’t think I could leave the dear Mamsie a minute longer than was necessary without the news?”
“No, Jasper,” she said; “but oh, how lovely in you to do it!”
Phronsie, opposite Grandpapa, who was stately and resplendent at the head of one of the other tables, looked over happily, “O Jasper!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “does Mamsie really know it now?”
“Yes, Phronsie,” said Jasper, beaming at her; “she really does.”
Phronsie sat quite still, her hands remaining clasped. It was as if the dear Mamsie’s face was really there before her, with the light and cheer that always made everything bright; and a tender look came into Phronsie’s eyes and around the curves of her mouth. And then her face drooped; and the dreadful longing that she had had every minute since Mother Fisher had sailed, just to see her again, settled down upon her. “Mamsie!” she breathed slowly, but in a way to make everybody turn and look at her.
Just then the heavy brass knocker on the front door clanged sharply. One of the maids brought in a yellow envelope, which she handed to Jasper. He tore it open quickly. “O Polly!” and across the table it sped to her. “Give it to Phronsie; let her read it first, dear. It’s from Mamsie!”
When they all came out of the babel of confused delight, Phronsie still sitting with clasped hands but radiant face, Jasper stood up and read:—
“To my dear Polly, I send my proud and loving word. I knew she would do it. And give my love to Phronsie.
Mamsie.”
“We’ll drink her health,” cried Jasper. “Simmons, pass the loving-cup.”