He looked at Norah as the door closed.
“You’re sure it isn’t too much for you, my girl? I will send them away if you would rather we were by ourselves for a while.”
“I promised Jim that whatever happened we’d keep smiling,” Norah said. “He wouldn’t want us to make a fuss. Jim always did so hate fusses, didn’t he, Dad?”
She was quite calm. Even when Mrs. Hunt came hurrying over, and put her kind arms about her, Norah had no tears.
“I suppose we haven’t realized it,” she said. “Perhaps we’re trying not to. I don’t want to think of Jim as dead—he was so splendidly alive, ever since he was a tiny chap.”
“Try to think of him as near you,” Mrs. Hunt whispered.
“Oh, he is. I know Jim never would go far from us, if he could help it. I know he’s watching, somewhere, and he will be glad if we keep our heads up and go straight on. He would trust us to do that.” Her face changed. “Oh, Mrs. Hunt,—but it’s hard on Dad!”
“He has you still.”
“I’m only a girl,” said Norah. “No girl could make up for a son: and such a son as Jim. But I’ll try.”
There came racing little feet in the hall, and Geoffrey burst in.