Alden's Decision
It was evident, then, that he was going away. Very well, she would go too. And when Alden had found his woman with the red hair, she would come back, alone—of course they would not want her.
She felt suddenly lonely, as though she had lived too long. For the first time, she forgot to light the candles on the mantel when the room became too dark to see. She had sat alone in the darkness for some time when she heard Alden's step outside.
When he came in, he missed the accustomed lights. "Mother!" he called, vaguely alarmed. Then, again: "Mother! Where are you, Mother dear?"
"I'm here," she responded, rising from her chair and fumbling along the mantel-shelf for matches. "I'm sorry I forgot the candles." The mere sound of his voice had made her heart leap with joy.
He was muddy and tired and his face was very white. "I know it's late," he said, apologetically, "and I'll go up to dress right now. I—I've decided to—stay."
His voice broke a little on the last word. Madame drew his tall head down and kissed him, forgetting all about the crystal ball. "For your own sake?" she asked; "or for mine?"
An Unfair Advantage
"For yours, of course. I'll try to do as you want me to, Lady Mother. I have nothing to do but to make you happy."
For answer, she kissed him again. "I must dress, too," she said.