"Oh, I'm all right," murmured the little white-faced mother, "Everything is all right now at least I hope it is, for a while. Only—what shall I do with Daisy? Her life is broken! My poor little flower of a girl!"
"Don't you believe it!" said the strong woman who knew life. "God doesn't let even a flower get broken as easily as that. Here, let's get in this taxi, and then we can talk."
She gave the order to the driver, and then laid her hand on the stricken woman's arm.
"My dear! You should be singing, shouting hallelujah, not mourning. Can't you trust the Father who has brought about this revelation to show your girl that life isn't all gone just because she made a mistake about one wolf in sheep's clothing? This all came to your girl perhaps to teach her, and prepare her for a fuller, wider life than she could have otherwise been prepared for."
"Oh!" moaned the little mother, "I wish I could feel that way, but it seems to me we have lost our self-respect. It seems as if Daisy has lost all the fine dignity and judgment she had, and that she can never lift up her head again."
"She has only lost her cock-suredness, my dear. She hasn't lost a bit of self-respect. She has made a mistake, yes, and a bad one, but she will learn to be more careful now, not to trust herself implicitly. She will learn to pray her way through the difficulties, perhaps, instead of insisting she knows best and demanding her own way. She will pay more heed to her mother's advice to her mother's intuition, and not consider that her own discernment of character is final. You know we all have to have sharp lessons to teach us to find our guidance in the Lord and our own utter helplessness without Him."
"But I'm so afraid Daisy won't look at it that way. She is such an intense child, so proud and excitable, and enthusiastic, and so prone to go to the depths when the heights have failed her. I am afraid—Mrs. Dunlap, forgive me, but I'm afraid she may lose her mind! You were not with her that last night before she went away. You don't realize."
"I realize that underneath are the Everlasting Arms, my dear," said Mary Dunlap solemnly, "and that the God who has just now performed the seemingly impossible for you in convincing your daughter of the unworthiness of the man whom she was determined to marry, in time and before it was forever too late to save her from the public shame of her own actions, can perform like wonders in other ways. Now, dear sister, suppose you just trust in Him. He has said, 'Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him and He shall bring it to pass.' Couldn't you just rest on that this morning and let Him give you a good rest? I'm sure everything will be made plain for you. Now, here we are at the hotel."
Mary Dunlap helped her friend up to her room for she looked as frail as a lily by this time; and had a nice little lunch sent up of which she literally forced her companion to partake.
When she found the troubled mother did not wish to talk of other matters she just went over the morning's experience with her, bringing out at every turn, the wonders that the Lord had worked. She spoke of the young man, Whitney.