Page:Stella Dallas, a novel (IA stelladallasnove00prou).pdf/297

Rh Very tenderly, as if she were handling a precious body from which life had departed, Helen unfastened Laurel's dress. She slipped it off her shoulders. It fell to the floor. Bare-armed, bare-shouldered, a shiver ran through Laurel—like a breeze rippling a docile sail. Helen put both arms about her shelteringly.

"Oh, Mrs. Morrison! Mrs. Morrison!" Laurel cried out at the touch, and suddenly the storm broke, the long withheld flood burst, the boat tossed, the sail strained and pulled. But Helen's hand was firm and steady on the tiller. She held Laurel close.

"That's right. Cry. You'll feel better. Cry. Cry."

Later in the morning, she would show Laurel the rainbow.

Helen went downstairs half an hour later she found Stephen in the big room waiting for her. He had been smoking ever since she left him—the ash-tray bore witness to that—and walking up and down the room. The two Sheraton armchairs had been carelessly shoved out of their usual places to clear a straight path from the fireplace to the window. As Helen entered the room she replaced one of the chairs, apparently unaware of Stephen's agitation.

"Well?" said Stephen at sight of her.

Helen looked up at him and smiled.

"She's asleep," she said, and started to replace the other chair.

"Poor child. Poor child!" Stephen broke out in a tone that was almost a groan. "It's torture