“We are to be married some day––and––”
“You are precipitate, Peter Junior.”
Then Betty did what every woman does when her lover is blamed, no matter how earnestly she may have resisted him before. She went completely over to his side and took his part.
“He’s going away, mother. He’s going away to be gone––perhaps for years; and I’ve––I’ve told him yes, mother,––so it isn’t his fault.” Then she turned and fled to her own room, and hid her flaming face in the pillow and wept.
“Sit here with me awhile, Peter Junior, and we’ll talk it all over,” said Mary.
He obeyed her, and looking squarely in her eyes, manfully told her his plans, and tried to make her feel as he felt, that no love like his had ever filled a man’s heart before. At last she sent him up to the studio to tell her husband, and she went in and finished Betty’s task, putting the bread––alas! too light by this time––in the oven, and shaping the raised biscuit which Betty had left half-finished.
Then she paused a moment to look out of the window 95 down the path where the boys and little Janey would soon come tumbling home from school, hot and hungry. A tear slowly coursed down her cheek, and, following the curves, trembled on the tip of her chin. She brushed it away impatiently. Of course it had to come––that was what life must bring––but ah! not so soon––not so soon. Then she set about preparations for dinner without Betty’s help. That, too, was what it would mean––sometime––to go on doing things without Betty. She gave a little sigh, and at the instant an arm was slipped about her waist, and she turned to look in Bertrand’s eyes.
“Is it all right, Mary?”
“Why––yes––that is––if they’ll always love each other as we have. I think it ought not to be too definite an engagement, though, until his plans are more settled. What do you think?”
“You are right, no doubt. I’ll speak to him about that.” Then he kissed her warm, flushed cheek. “I declare, it makes me feel as Peter Junior feels again, to have this happen.”