"Because she hasn't anyone to love her—because she hasn't you. I'm sorry for every other woman in the world," she concluded, generously, "because I have you all to myself."
"Sweet," he answered, possessing himself of her hand, "don't forget that you must divide me with mother."
"I won't. Will she care, do you think, because—" Her voice trailed off into an indistinct murmur.
"Of course not. She's glad. I told her this morning."
"Oh!" cried Rosemary, suddenly tremulous and afraid. "What did she say?"
"She was surprised at first." Alden carefully refrained from saying how much his mother had been surprised and how long it had been before she found herself equal to the occasion.
"Yes—and then?"
"Then she said she was glad; that she wanted me to be happy. She told me that she had always liked you and that the house wouldn't be so lonely after you came to live with us. Then she asked me to bring you to see her, as soon as you were ready to come."
The full tide overflowed in the girl's heart. She yearned toward Mrs. Marsh with worship, adoration, love. The mother-hunger made her faint with longing for a woman's arms around her, for a woman's tears of joy to mingle with her own.
Madame's Welcome