“I know it doesn’t—perhaps it isn’t. Only to me”—Lucia’s fingers closed dangerously over the fragile cup-handle—“it was growing unbearable! I had to get away.”
“Yes, yes, dear. And you were right to come to me. I was delighted when your wire arrived—quite delighted,” said Mrs. Loring quickly. “But what about Tommy?”
“Tommy’s away at school,” said his mother, sipping her tea with a pretense of tranquillity. “We decided to send him to military school this year, you know, as he’s nine. He left yesterday. That gave me my opportunity to come to you. Oh, mother, I snatched at it!”
“Yes, dear—yes,” Mrs. Loring leaned over to pat her hand. She had certainly not known Lucy was so nervous! “And I’ll let the Granvilles and Ada Barker and the Temple girls know you’re here, and we’ll have a gay little visit,” she added cheerfully. “The longer the better, Lucy!”
“Dear mother!” murmured Lucia. “Though I would rather not do a lot of social things—I really would, mother. I’m—I believe I’m rather tired. And John said”—she checked herself swiftly.
“Yes? What did John say?”
“A stupid married woman’s habit I’ve fallen into! What he said was ‘do get rested.’ What he should have said——”
“Lucia,” interrupted her mother, “I was married to your father only four years, but ‘what he should have said’ never happened. I wouldn’t let it happen.”
“He should have said ‘I shall miss you,’” murmured Lucia stubbornly. “That’s one of the things, mother: I’m taken—and let go—so for granted!”
Mrs. Loring looked at her judiciously. “You’re a very pretty woman,” said she. “Even excepting your hair, you’d be striking. And” (running her left hand through its ripples) “it seems to me your hair’s blacker than ever. Doesn’t John think so?”