Dwight hazarded that Nin probably had to get back, and shone pleasantly in the reflected importance of a brother filled with affairs.

“I don’t know what to make of Lulu’s letters,” Ina proceeded.  “They’re so—­so—­”

“You haven’t had but two, have you?”

“That’s all—­well, of course it’s only been a month.  But both letters have been so—­”

Ina was never really articulate.  Whatever corner of her brain had the blood in it at the moment seemed to be operative, and she let the matter go at that.

“I don’t think it’s fair to mamma—­going off that way.  Leaving her own mother.  Why, she may never see mamma again—­” Ina’s breath caught.  Into her face came something of the lovely tenderness with which she sometimes looked at Monona and Di.  She sprang up.  She had forgotten to put some supper to warm for mamma.  The lovely light was still in her face as she bustled about against the time of mamma’s recovery from her tantrim.  Dwight’s face was like this when he spoke of his foster-mother.  In both these beings there was something which functioned as pure love.

Mamma had recovered and was eating cold scrambled eggs on the corner of the kitchen table when the ice cream soda party was ready to set out.  Dwight threw her a casual “Better come, too, Mother Bett,” but she shook her head.  She wished to go, wished it with violence, but she contrived to give to her arbitrary refusal a quality of contempt.  When Jenny arrived with Bobby, she had brought a sheaf of gladioli for Mrs. Bett, and took them to her in the kitchen, and as she laid the flowers beside her, the young girl stopped and kissed her.  “You little darling!” cried Mrs. Bett, and clung to her, her lifted eyes lit by something intense and living.  But when the ice cream party had set off at last, Mrs. Bett left her supper, gathered up the flowers, and crossed the lawn to the old cripple, Grandma Gates.

“Inie sha’n’t have ’em,” the old woman thought.

And then it was quite beautiful to watch her with Grandma Gates, whom she tended and petted, to whose complainings she listened, and to whom she tried to tell the small events of her day.  When her neighbour had gone, Grandma Gates said that it was as good as a dose of medicine to have her come in.

Mrs. Bett sat on the porch restored and pleasant when the family returned.  Di and Bobby had walked home with Jenny.

“Look here,” said Dwight Herbert, “who is it sits home and has ice cream put in her lap, like a queen?”

“Vanilly or chocolate?” Mrs. Bett demanded.

“Chocolate, mammal” Ina cried, with the breeze in her voice.

“Vanilly sets better,” Mrs. Bett said.

They sat with her on the porch while she ate.  Ina rocked on a creaking board.  Dwight swung a leg over the railing.  Monona sat pulling her skirt over her feet, and humming all on one note.  There was no moon, but the warm dusk had a quality of transparency as if it were lit in all its particles.