"No, it isn't," sobbed Winifred. "It is just—what I—wished. Only—I shall—miss her so!"
"Of course," he replied pitifully.
The storm subsided, and Winifred looked at her brother apologetically.
"I am ashamed," she said, still with long catches in her breath. "I couldn't help it. I am not sorry—she is going—I am very glad!"
"You are very brave," he said.
"But it's true," she persisted. "It's all over now, Hubert. I shall not cry like that again. Let us talk about it."
They talked about it till the small hours came. Winifred's face cleared of every trace of sorrow, and she loved to think of the cheer and help that Hubert would have in the far-off land. No braver heart of all they knew could have been found to share his pilgrimage; and they imagined how Adèle's keen sense of humor might turn many a sorry happening into mirth. Also she had served an apprenticeship here among the poor and outcast whom she had come to love and who loved her well.
"Winifred," said Hubert suddenly in the midst of their conversation,
"Gerald Bond is to preach for Dr. Schoolman next Sunday."
For some reason best known to himself he watched her countenance narrowly as he made the announcement. But her fair face showed only sweet unconsciousness.
"Really?" she said. "I am very glad."