Page:Stella Dallas, a novel (IA stelladallasnove00prou).pdf/249

Rh been of her mother and the mouse-colored wrappers. But she had failed. Why, it was the same story right over again. Laurel was ashamed of her mother, too. It was as plain as the nose on your face. That was the reason Laurel was leaving the hotel. She would die rather than confess it, of course. That was the way Laurel was—as considerate, as gentle, as delicate with her common, ordinary, vulgar mother (weren't those some of the words the voices had used?) as with the charming Mrs. Grosvenor or the flawless Mrs. Morrison.

Well, what was to be done about it? Now that Stella knew the truth, knew that just her own personality, just her own five senses and the old hulk of a shell they lived in, was like an iron ball tied to Laurel's ankle (pleasant to learn that about yourself in the middle of the night, when you so wanted to be wings for your child), well—now that she had learned it, what was the next number on the programme? Laurel being a girl, the voices had said, couldn't escape, couldn't break the chain to the ball. Well, then (Stella's fingers very gently closed over Laurel's. She still slept—and she really did sleep now)—well, then— It would be pretty awful without her, wouldn't it? Dear little Lollie!— Let's see, let's see. No. No other way.

ribbon of sunlight was shining into the berth through a crack by the tightly pulled window-shade by Laurel's feet when she stirred and woke. Stella was waiting for her, had been waiting all night.