He began his pacing again. His mother had not said one word about the money. Neither had he. Once more he stopped before her.
“We are at least a year nearer the poor-house,” he said; “you haven't scolded me for that. I should feel so much better if you would.”
“Oh, Stephen, don't say that!” she exclaimed. “God has given me no greater happiness in this life than the sight of the gratitude of that poor creature, Nancy. I shall never forget the old woman's joy at the sight of her daughter. It made a palace out of that dingy furniture shop. Hand me my handkerchief, dear.”
Stephen noticed with a pang that the lace of it was frayed and torn at the corner.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said Mrs. Brice, hastily putting the handkerchief down.
Hester stood on the threshold, and old Nancy beside her.
“Evenin', Mis' Brice. De good Lawd bless you, lady, an' Miste' Brice,” said the old negress.
“Well, Nancy?”
Nancy pressed into the room. “Mis' Brice!”