There was no question as to Gertie’s joy, and Mrs. Barrett wished she was as sure of as hearty a welcome from her own daughter as she received from this stranger, who was removing her bonnet and shawl and talking to her so fast.
“You must be very tired, and I’d take you to your room at once, only I hardly know which Mrs. Schuyler would wish you to have. The best, though, of course, as you are her mother. Yes, I think I’ll venture that. Come with me, please;” and Gertie led the way up the broad, long stairs to the guest chamber of the house, the one reserved for people like Mrs. Gen. Morton and Mrs. Gov. Strong, who sometimes visited at Schuyler Hill.
But Mrs. Barrett knew better than to take it. She was not so sure of Edith’s delight, while the colonel, she felt, would never forgive her if he found her in his best room. So she said to Gertie:
“I do not believe I had better take this, as I shall probably remain a long time, and a smaller, plainer chamber will do for me,—one near you, if I can have it,” she added, with an instinctive feeling that in Gertie she should find her strongest ally and friend.
“Come to my room, then, and wait. Mrs. Schuyler will soon be here,” Gertie said, and while she spoke, there was the sound of wheels, and looking through the blinds, Mrs. Barrett saw her daughter in her carriage coming up the avenue, and scanned her curiously.
“What a great lady she is, though,” she said, aloud, “and what a handsome house. I wonder if she blames me now?”
From having lived alone so much, Mrs. Barrett had acquired the habit of talking to herself, and she was startled when she met Gertie’s eyes fixed wonderingly upon her, and became aware that she was speaking her thoughts aloud.
“That’s she; that’s Edith; I hear her voice,” she said, beginning to tremble with excitement, and anticipation, and dread. “Would you mind telling her I’m here?” she added, feeling intuitively that if she was to have a shock Gertie would stand between her and the battery, and thus make it easier to bear.
“Certainly, I’ll tell her,” Gertie replied, while there began to dawn upon her a faint suspicion that possibly Mrs. Barrett might not be altogether welcome.
Edith had never voluntarily mentioned her mother in Gertie’s hearing, and when the latter spoke of her, as she sometimes did, she turned the conversation at once into another channel. This Gertie now remembered, and when she added to it the few words Mrs. Barrett had inadvertently let fall about her daughter’s blaming her, she felt sure there was some misunderstanding between mother and daughter; and while she stood firmly by Edith, as the one probably least in fault, she felt a great pity for the tired, worn woman, whose face was so much paler and thinner than when she last saw it, and she resolved to do the best for her she could.