“Mother,” said some grown-up voices, and two young men and a young woman stood beside her, leaning down to her fondly. Still she kept smiling at the fire, as if she were thinking of something else.
“It’s time for Peter to come,” she said in a low voice, as if to herself. “He ought to be with me now.”
The grownups looked at each other and shook their heads.
“I remember,” she said, “how he used to tease me in school. Once he dipped my hair in the green ink. Well, well. I used to get very angry with him. But I think I was only pretending.”
Her head sank down a little on her breast.
“He had such nice laughing eyes when he was a boy. I suppose that’s what made me love him first.”
She folded her hands again in her lap, and her head sank lower on her breast.
“There’s no need to worry about the baby, Peter. I’ll sit up with him to-night. You must go to bed now. You won’t be fit for anything to-morrow if you don’t.”
Her voice was not more than a whisper now.
“No, I’m not sorry about anything. Everything’s been all right. I’ve had you, and that’s enough. No, you mustn’t say that. Trouble? Yes, but love makes even that beautiful too.”