XXIXNona, that night, in her mother’s doorway, wavered a moment and then turned back. “Well, then—goodnight, mother.”
“Goodnight, child.”
But Mrs. Manford seemed to waver too. She stood there in her rich dusky draperies, and absently lifted a hand to detach one after the other of her long earrings. It was one of Mrs. Manford’s rules never to keep up her maid to undress her.
“Can I unfasten you, mother?”
“Thanks, dear, no; this teagown slips off so easily. You must be tired …”
“No; I’m not tired. But you …”
“I’m not either.” They stood irresolute on the threshold of the warm shadowy room lit only by a waning sparkle from the hearth. Pauline switched on the lamps.
“Come in then, dear.” Her strained smile relaxed, and she laid a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Well, it’s over,” she s
