Page:Stella Dallas, a novel (IA stelladallasnove00prou).pdf/296

286 "Yes, she has. I know. Read that. Read that."

She drew her mother's letter from the front of her dress, and passed it to Helen.

"Do you want me to?"

Laurel nodded.

Helen sat down on the foot of the bed and opened the folded sheets. The letter had been written by Stella in pencil, carelessly, in haste apparently. It was read by Helen slowly, painstakingly, as if it had been written in blood. She read it twice. Afterwards she looked up at Laurel.

Laurel gave a little shrug. "You see."

"Yes, I think I see," said Helen slowly.

"I thought it was for me she gave father the divorce, so I could come and be with you. And it made me glad. It made me proud. But I was mistaken. It was for him. It was to marry him, that creature. He's her kind, down underneath. She is his kind. She chose him. Father's right. The others are right. I'm the one who's been wrong about her all this time. Oh, Mrs. Morrison, she's killed my respect for her, and she knew she would—we have been quarreling about that man for weeks—she knew she would! But she didn't care. She didn't care." Thus pitilessly Laurel sunk her sharp young teeth into the hand that hurt.

Helen murmured, "Greater love hath no woman than this."

Laurel didn't hear her. "I'm very unhappy, Mrs. Morrison," she stated dully.

Helen replied, "You are very tired. You need sleep. Does it fasten behind?"