It was after dinner. They were sitting in the garden terrace just outside the big room, where the portrait hung. Through the open windows, uncurtained toward the terrace, they could see Laurel seated with the two older of the boys at a table, busy over some sort of game with cards, with Michael stretched out comfortably at their feet.

“I’ve enjoyed every moment of her,” Helen went on, gazing fondly at the group inside the room. “Only,” and there was a sudden change in her voice, “it’s brought home to me afresh what I’ve missed—all these years. Oh, we’ve had such fun together!” she broke off gaily. “Girls’ sort of fun,” she laughed; “doing each other’s hair, for instance—trying on each other’s hats—that sort of thing. Boys—men, couldn’t understand. And her questions! Don’t you love little girls’ blunt questions? Daring things, I think, like awkward little colts and calves—oh Laurel’s a dear child, Stephen. I’ve kept pretending she was mine,” she exclaimed lightly.

“Oh, Helen! If she only were!”

There wasn’t a trace of lightness in Stephen’s exclamation.

“I couldn’t have equipped her any better for the present-day activities of a young girl’s life than her own mother has done, Stephen,” said Helen. “There doesn’t appear to be a muscle or a bone in her body that has been neglected.”

“I’m thinking about her soul,” Stephen remarked.

“It hasn’t lost any of its beauty yet, Stephen.” Helen assured him, “She’s as unspoiled a little girl as I know—so pleased (so genuinely pleased, too—you can tell by the shine in her eyes) at the least kindness or attention. And the combination in her of sophistication and innocence is a source of constant surprise to me—a source of constant joy, too. Oh, you needn’t be afraid. So far the undesirable influences haven’t hurt Laurel a bit.”

“But she’s getting older, Helen. Her youth and innocence cannot protect her always.”

“Oh, I know, I know,” agreed Helen; “I’ve thought of that, too. It’s a pity. I’m so sorry, Stephen. Let her stay with me often—whenever you can. See them in there—all so happy. Don’t take her to a hotel when she comes for the visits. Bring her to me here, or to the town house, if we’ve moved in.”

5

DRIVING BACK TO New York that night over the almost deserted road (it was late. “Very late for thirteen,” Mrs. Morrison had laughed, as she had tucked Laurel into a warm coat of her own), Laurel sat beside her father like a little stone image for the first ten minutes.