Page:Stella Dallas, a novel (IA stelladallasnove00prou).pdf/299

Rh "Yes, to think of it!" repeated Helen, softly, starry-eyed.

"What do you mean?" demanded Stephen, looking at her sharply. Why did she speak like that?

Helen replied slowly, distinctly, looking at Stephen. "Laurel is here. She is here to stay. Who has accomplished it?"

He didn't answer her—just looked at her a moment, then shook his head, and gazed down again into the dead logs in the fireplace.

Helen placed her hand very lightly on one of his folded arms.

"She has always been judged just by appearances," she said in a low earnest tone, "valued just by impressions. Some people go through life with nobody seeing the good in them because of the blurred, unbeautiful reflection they give back. 'Now we see through a glass, darkly.' I think it means in a mirror indistinctly—a dim, dull, imperfect mirror. It seems as if everybody saw Stella 'through a glass, darkly,' Stephen, even her own child to-night."

She withdrew her hand. Stephen replied, still staring into the lifeless fireplace, "I lived with her. I knew her."

"Oh, but, Stephen—"

"My dear, my dear," he interrupted tenderly, fondly. How strange that Helen should be the one to try to show him the good in Stella! "You see with the eyes of an angel."

"No, I don't," said Helen prosaically. "Simply with the eyes of a mother, Stephen."