Half unconsciously he had been wishing to see his
mother--perhaps not even to speak, but just to see her placid face in
its kind womanliness. It was almost as if his wish had been whispered
to her telepathically and she had answered it. She made a charming
picture, too, he thought, in the shadowy room where the pale, moving
curtains in the dimness were like spirits bringing peace, and all the
light focussed upon the white-haired, white-gowned woman in the high,
black chair seemed to radiate from her whiteness.
Mother looked up, pleased but not surprised, as the opening door
framed her son.
"Howdy do, deary!" She smiled at him. "I thought you'd be coming along
about this time."
Peter threw his hat and coat at the whale, whose large, shining
surface hospitably received them. Mrs. Rolls's small, plump feet in
cheap Japanese slippers rested upon a "hassock" on whose covering
reposed (in worsted) a black spaniel with blue high lights. This
animal she had herself created before the birth of Peter or Ena, but
it was as bright a beast as if it had been finished yesterday. No one
at Sea Gull Manor except Peter would have given Fido house room.
Pages:
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360