"Oh, here you are! Excuse me, friends. I was worrying over Herbert.—Well, how goes it?"
She smiled and stepped into the room: saw them all.
"All well, Mrs. Rabinowich," said Meyer. "We are so glad when your Herbert comes to play with Florchen."
Mrs. Rabinowich turns the love of her face upon the children who do not attend her. A grey long face, bitterly pock-marked, in a glow of love.
"Look what your Herbert brought her," Meyer sews and smiles. "A toy. He shouldn't, now. Such a thing costs money."
Mrs. Rabinowich puts an anxious finger to her lips.
"Don't," she whispers. "If he wants to, he should. It is lovely that he wants to. There's money enough for such lovely wants.—Well, darling. Won't you come home to bed?"
Herbert does not attend.
His mother sighed—a sigh of great appeasement and of content.—This is my son! She turned to where Esther sat with brooding eyes. Her face was serious now, grey ever, warm with a grey sorrow. Her lips moved: they knew not what to say.
"How are you, Esther?"