“Oh, yes, I forgot,” said Clare. “Come in and I will tell you.”
Mrs. Heywood went into the bedroom. Outside, in the street, a man with a fiddle was playing the “Intermezzo.” Presently both women came out. Clare was smiling, with her arm round Mrs. Heywood’s neck. Mrs. Heywood was wiping her eyes as though crying a little.
“Cheer up,” said Clare. “It’s nothing to cry about.”
“I am crying because I am so glad,” said Mrs. Heywood.
“Well, that’s a funny thing to do,” said Clare, laughing gaily. “Now I must run away. You won’t let Herbert drown himself, will you?”
“No, dear,” said Mrs. Heywood, wiping her eyes.
“Who would have thought it!” said Mrs.
Heywood, speaking to herself as her daughter-in-law left the room.
She went over to the mantelpiece and took up her son’s photograph and kissed it. Then she went to the door and stood out in the hall and called in a sweet old woman’s voice:
“Herbert! Herbert, dear!”