Followed for Mary quiet days with Constance and the beautiful baby, days in which the sisters were knit together by the bonds of mutual grief. The little Mary-Constance was a wonderful comfort to both of them; unconscious of sadness, she gurgled and crowed and beamed, winning them from sorrowful thoughts by her blandishments, making herself the center of things, so that, at last, all their little world seemed to revolve about her.
And always in these quiet days, Mary looked for a letter from across the high seas, and at last it came in a blue envelope.
It arrived one morning when she was at breakfast with Constance and Gordon. Handed to her with other letters, she left it unopened and laid it beside her plate.
Gordon finished his breakfast, kissed his wife, and went away. Constance, looking over her mail, read bits of news to Mary. Mary, in return, read bits of news to Constance. But the blue envelope by her plate lay untouched, until, catching her sister's eye, she flushed.
"Constance," she said, "it is from Roger Poole."
"Oh, Mary, and was that why Porter went away?"
"Yes." It came almost defiantly.
For a moment the young matron hesitated, then she held out her arms. "Dearest girl," she said, "we want you to be happy."
Mary, with eyes shining, came straight to that loving embrace.
"I am going to be happy," she said, almost breathlessly, "and perhaps my way of being happy won't be yours, Con, darling. But what difference does it make, so long as we are both—happy?"