Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/136

126 so happy and contented here," she broke out. "Oh, don't let's quarrel. I don't want to quarrel."

"Is that the way you do your hair, now?" flashed out the older woman. "Where's your rat? Or aren't you fully dressed yet?"

"They don't wear rats any more," explained Reba. "Don't you like my hair this way?

Aunt Augusta pursed her lips tight, in disapproval. It wasn't propitious, but Reba was willing to go more than half-way to-day.

"Oh, please, do let's be friendly and nice," she persevered. "Do tell me about Mother, and Aunt Emma, and everything at home. I'm so anxious to hear."

"Anxious!" scoffed Aunt Augusta. "Your mother might be dead for all you know, or seem to care."

"I've written every week," gently Reba reminded.

"And haven't heard a word from us in thirteen and a half weeks. Not from one of us—your father included—except for those business letters. I know. I've kept tabs. Not a word, and still you could stay on here, selfishly enjoying yourself, not sure but what we were all dead. It's high time, young lady, for you to have to think about somebody else besides Rebecca Jerome."

"Perhaps I have been selfish—a little," acknowledged Reba generously. "Perhaps I ought to have come home for over a Sunday. I can now. I will, sometime soon."

"You'll come for longer than for over a Sunday," gloatingly nodded Aunt Augusta. Then, turning to the crestfallen man beside her, who was still gazing carpetward, "Tell her, David. You better tell her what brought you and me down on this expensive trip."