Cheneston's mother had fallen asleep happily.
"Oh, my dear!" I whispered. "And I came to tell you--and now you'll
never know that I wanted to be his mother, and he wanted another sort."
I don't know how long I stayed there. I seemed very close to her. She
was so beautiful, the loveliest old thing with that little tender smile
curving her lips; the peace of her, like the loveliness, was
indescribable.
I wondered if in heaven there were things to mother and love. I hoped
so; her life had been so full of warmth, so radiant with humanity. I
thought of her extraordinary quaintness, the delicious way she put
things--I heard again her laughter.