During the next few days Judith forgot Eileen, well-nigh forgot Lary,
in her perplexed contemplation of their mother. Some thaumaturge,
endowed with more than a magician’s power, must have his habitation in
Bromfield. The most audacious quack would guarantee no such cure of
a sick body and a doubly sick mind in four short weeks. Lavinia had
subtracted twenty years from her normal age, as neatly as a reptile
discards an outworn skin. Her step was short and vigorous, with none of
the stumping determination that so long marked it. Her head was carried
high and the black eyes beamed with amiability. The very quality of her
voice had undergone change. She no longer swung from cloying sweetness
to acrid outbursts. More than all else, a half gentleness--that she
still wore uncomfortably, like a fur cloak in August--held her family
in puzzled wonder.
David moved as one walking in his sleep. He was afraid to breathe, lest
he fall to earth and awaken to the old barren reality. When it appeared
likely that the mood would remain, he accepted the goods the gods had
provided. He had waited long, and the reward was justly his.
One evening Theodora sought her Lady Judith. She was agitated to the
point of inarticulateness. Her little brown face was drawn with fear
and two red spots burned in the thin cheeks. Twice, thrice she essayed
to speak, her throat swelling and her bird-like eyes darting their mute
appeal.
“Might I--might I sit in your lap?” she faltered at last. “I’m not so
very heavy, and I can’t tell you unless I.... I have to tell you in
your ear.”
“What are you afraid of, dearie?” Mrs. Ascott snuggled her close.
“It happened just a few minutes ago--and--I know I didn’t dream it.
It was when Papa came downstairs from changing his clothes. You know,
they are going to the reception for the Board of Trustees, and my daddy
looked so handsome when he came in the library--with a pink carnation
in his buttonhole.”
“There they go, now. Don’t you want to wave good-bye to them?”
“No, I don’t want to interrupt mamma. They don’t know I’m on earth.
That’s what I came to tell you about. You see that mamma has on the
yellow organdie dress. But you don’t know what that means--signifies,”
she amended, weighing the word with unaccustomed deliberation. “Papa
bought it for her, at a big store in St. Louis, when she was going
away. And she was so hateful--wouldn’t put it on, or even take it
with her. And to-night she said she was glad she’d saved it--just for
him--because it was the prettiest dress she ever had.”
“I’m glad she said that, dear.”
“Oh, but that wasn’t all she said. She noticed that he picked a pink
carnation, when everybody knows my daddy prefers red ones. I was
sitting in the window niche, reading a book. Goodness knows, I was in
plain sight. And they didn’t either one of them see me. Mamma came in
first, talking to herself about how pretty her dress was ... and how
happy she was....” Theodora’s breath came short, and the black eyes
were luminous with tears.
“And, Lady Judith, all at once my daddy came in the room, and he
tiptoed up behind her and cuddled her under the chin with his fingers.
And she wheeled around and just nestled in his arms, like a kitten. And
then she kissed him--the way you do when you just _adore_ anyone.”
The voice sank to an awed whisper. Judith clasped the frail body, with
its consuming emotional fire, her own heart pounding with vicarious
passion.
“And she looked up in his eyes and told him he was the best man in
the world, a million times handsomer and more successful than any
man among their old friends. And she wanted to go back, on their
anniversary, the first of November, to let all those silly people see
for themselves what a fine man he had turned out to be. And papa looked
as if he wanted to laugh and cry, at the same time, and his face was
as beautiful as an angel’s, he was so happy. And I’m afraid my mamma
is--going to--di-i-ie!” The voice broke in an agony of sobs.
“No, no, precious. She is just beginning to live.”
What had wrought the miracle? The absence that makes the heart grow
fond? But Mrs. Trench had often been away from home and family, and
it was certain that none of her former home-comings had had such
sequential consummation. Had she, for some unfathomable reason,
perceived David as he was? Had she fallen in love with her husband?