"Perhaps her disillusion is ahead of her," said the Journalist. "'Say no man'—or woman either—'is happy until the day of his death.'"
"She is dead," said the Nurse.
"I told you she was lucky little Josephine," ejaculated the Doctor.
"And she died without telling the boy the truth?" asked the Journalist.
"The truth?" repeated the Nurse. "I've told you that she had forgotten it. No woman was ever so loved by a son. No mother ever so grieved for."
"Then the son lives?" asked the Doctor.
The Nurse smiled quietly.
"Good-night," said the Doctor. "I am going to bed to dream of that. It is a pity some of the rest of us childless slackers had not done as well as Josephine. She took her risk. She was lucky."
"She did," replied the Nurse, "but she did not realize anything of that. She was too simple, too unanalytic."
"I wonder?" said the Critic.