When Rutherford brought in the tray with his whisky and soda he found him still motionless at his desk, staring through the opened doors at what life had given him. Things.
Later on Kay saw her mother. She went in, with the nurse standing guard; fortunately she had been warned in advance, so she bore herself well, but even the rose lights in the room could not conceal the change in Katherine. Her small face had fallen in, there were deep livid circles under her eyes. Her white hair, however, was as carefully waved as ever, her hands, the left with its enormous square cut diamond, were as carefully manicured. She was wrapped in lace and soft silk.
She held out her arms and Kay went into them, determinedly smiling but sick at heart.
"My little girl!"
"Mother darling!"
And after a pause, each holding the other: "Did they send for you?"
"No, indeed. I just came."
No, Henry wouldn't have sent for her; she ought to have known that. She stroked Kay's head.
"I was afraid" she said, and stopped.
"Afraid of what?"
But she lied gently.
"Afraid you hadn't got your clothes. But I see you have. You look so pretty, Kay. I think I had forgotten how pretty you are!"
And then, before anything real had been said between them, the nurse signaled for Kay to go.
But Katherine knew; had known from the moment she had learned that Kay was in the house, was certain of it when she saw her. She had left her husband. Tragedy was written all over her, smile as she might.
She lay very still that night, for fear the nurse would report her sleepless to Henry, and Kay would get the blame. She seemed to be seeing very clearly a great many things; for instance, one could choose security, as she had, and be left always to wonder where the other path would have
