Betty stopped abruptly. Three years!––was it so long since that parasol was new––and she was so happy––and Richard came home––? The family were seated on the piazza as they were wont to be in the evening, and Betty walked quietly into the house, and up to her room.
Bertrand Ballard sighed, and his wife reached out and took his hand in hers. “She’s never been the same since,” he said.
“Her character has deepened and she’s fine and sweet––”
“Yes, yes. I have three hundred dollars owing me for the Delong portrait. If I had it, she should have her course. I’ll make another effort to collect it.”
“I would, Bertrand.”
Julien Thurbyfil and his wife walked down the flower-bordered path side by side to the gate and stood leaning over it in silence. Practical Martha was the first to break it.
“There will be just as much need for preparatory schools now as there was before the fire, Julien.”
“Yes, dear, yes.”
“And, meanwhile, we are glad of this sweet haven to come to, aren’t we? And it won’t be long before things are so you can begin again.”
“Yes, dear, and then we’ll make it up to Betty, won’t we?”