Part 69 (1/2)
She prayed beside; she could not be in trouble and not give the first breath of it to the Lord. Hollis had asked her to write because of what her mother had said to him. He believed--what did he believe?
”O, mother! mother!” she moaned, ”you are so good and so lovely, and yet you have hurt me so. How could you? How could you?”
While the clock in Mrs. Kemlo's room was striking six, a light flashed across her eyes. Her mother stood at the bedside with a lighted candle in her hand.
”I was afraid you would oversleep. Why, child! Didn't you undress?
Haven't you had anything but that quilt over you?”
”Mother, I am not going; I never want to see Hollis again,” cried Marjorie weakly.
”Nonsense child,” answered her mother energetically.
”It is not nonsense. I will not go to New York.”
”What will they all think?”
”I will write that I cannot come. I could not travel to-day; I have not slept at all.”
”You look so. But you are very foolish. Why should he not speak to me first?”
”It was your speaking to him first. What must he think of me! O, mother, mother, how could you?”
The hopeless cry went to her mother's heart.
”Marjorie, I believe the Lord allows us to be self-willed. I have not slept either; but I have sat up by the fire. Your father used to say that we would not make haste if we trusted, and I have learned that it is so.
All I have done is to break your heart.”
”Not quite that, poor mother. But I shall never write to Hollis again.”
Mrs. West turned away and set the candle on the bureau. ”But I can,” she said to herself.
”Come down-stairs where it is warm, and I'll make you a cup of coffee.
I'm afraid you have caught your death of cold.”
”I _am_ cold,” confessed Marjorie, rising with a weak motion.
Her new gray travelling dress was thrown over a chair, her small trunk was packed, even her gloves were laid out on the bureau beside her pocket-book.
”Linnet has counted on it so,” sighed her mother.
”Mother!” rising to her feet and standing by the bedside. ”I will go.
Linnet shall not be disappointed.”
”That's a good child! Now hurry down, and I'll hurry you off,” said her mother, in her usual brisk tone.
An hour and a half later Mrs. West kissed Marjorie's pale lips, and bade her stay a good while and have a good time. And before she washed up the breakfast dishes she put on a clean ap.r.o.n, burnished her gla.s.ses, and sat down to write to Hollis. The letter was as plain as her talk had been. He had understood then, he should understand now. But with Marjorie would be the difficulty; could he manage her?