“Tell me all about Robert,” demanded Mrs. Summers. “If you only knew how horribly out of things I feel! I know nothing of what’s been going on in the book world.”
“I should think not—with two babies to look after.”
“And the constant moving from one station to another. One loses touch so quickly, and you know, Cis,” with a touch of reproach, “you haven’t written. Why didn’t you write? For the last year or two I’ve scarcely heard anything of you.”
For a moment her cousin was silent, and when she spoke her voice trembled.
“I know. But after baby died, I hadn’t the heart. And then——” She broke off abruptly.
Mrs. Summers’ voice was very gentle.
“Yes, dear, of course—I understand,” she said. “But tell me everything now. Robert’s getting famous? That means that you’re getting rich, you lucky little wretch!”
“Yes,” returned Cecily. “Yes, I suppose we shall be rich,” she added, slowly.
“Bless the child! Aren’t you glad? Isn’t he glad?”
“Oh, yes, he’s very glad. We can get away now.” She spoke in a quiet, unemotional tone, and Rose glanced at her sharply.