“If you have time, Quint,” she had said to him on the first evening after his arrival, “I hope we’ll see something of each other.”
“I have no engagements, Adelaide.”
So, when the time came: “Shall we just talk, this once?” she asked him.
They went up to her room.
It had been “Rhoda’s room” when the two sisters shared it. But Rhoda had been married nearly a year. Yet, the old name and the old association clung to Quincy as they arose from luncheon—Marsden, Adelaide, his mother and himself.
“Well, children, I must run.” Sarah looked at her daughter. “It wouldn’t hurt you, Adelaide, to come along and help your mother.” It was a case of belated Christmas shopping—gifts Sarah had overlooked.
“Mother, Quint and I have planned a cozy afternoon upstairs in my room.”
Sarah gazed tragically at the window. The sleet pounded against it like a snare-drum. She had discovered lately that Adelaide was very prone to make a sanctuary in her room. She had to say something. This inspired her.
“And what would you have done, if Rhoda were still here with you?” she asked.
“But she isn’t, Mother.”