“We've looked everywhere for you. I've come to take you home.”
“Home!” Her strange laughter mocked the word. “There's no home for folks like me in this world.”
“Your mother is breaking her heart for you. She thinks of nothing else. All night she keeps a light burning to let you know.”
She broke into a sob. “I've seen it. To-night I saw it—for the last time.”
“It is pitiful how she waits and waits,” he went on quietly. “She takes out your dresses and airs them. All the playthings you used when you were a little girl she keeps near her. She—”
“Don't! Don't!” she begged.
“Your place is set at the table every day, so that when you come in it may be ready.”
At that she leaned against the crates and broke down utterly. Jeff knew that for the moment the battle was won. He slipped out of his rain coat and made her put it on, coaxing her gently while the sobs shook her. He led her by the hand back to Pacific Avenue, talking cheerfully as if it were a matter of course.
Here Marchant met them.
“I want a cab, Oscar,” Jeff told him.