mother had informed her of this on a hundred occasions and in
countless ways; but more by her actions, her present wretchedness,
than by speech. It was perfectly clear to Linda that nothing else
mattered. She was even beginning, in a vague way, to think of it in
connection with herself; but still most of her preoccupation was in
her mother. She decided gravely that a great deal, yet, could be
done. For instance, lunch to-day:

Her mother had given her a birthday celebration at Henri's, the
famous confectioner but a door or two from their hotel, and at the
end, when a plate of the most amazing and delightful little cakes
had been set on the table, the elder had eaten more than half.
Afterwards she had sworn ruefully at her lack of character, begging
Linda--in a momentary return of former happy companionship--never to
let her make such a silly pig of herself again. Then she got so
tired, Linda continued her mental deliberations; if she could only
rest, go away from cities and resorts for a number of months, the
lines in turn would soon vanish.

The elder moved impatiently, with a fretful exclamation, in the
inner room; from outside came the subdued dull ceaseless clamor of
New York. Formerly it had frightened Linda; but her dread had become
a wordless excitement at the thought of so much just beyond the
windows; her hands grew cold and her heart suddenly pounded,
destroying the vicarious image of her mother.




VI