There were many women to be instructed how to do
things with gauze and muslin and cotton, so she tucked the letter in
her apron pocket. But all day her mind went to it, as a feast to be
deferred until the time came to enjoy it.
In the afternoon Ulrich Stoelle arrived, bearing the inevitable tissue
paper parcel.
"Do you know what day it is?" he asked.
"Thursday."
"There are always Thursdays. But this is a special Thursday."
"Is it?"
"And you ask me like that? It is a Thursday for valentines."
"Of course. But how could you expect me to remember? Nobody ever
sends me valentines."
"My father has sent you one." It was a heart-shaped basket of pink
roses; "but mine I couldn't bring. You must come and see it. Will you
dine with us tonight?"
"Oh, I am so busy."
"You are not too busy for that. Let your little Jean take charge."
Jean, all in white with her white veil and red crosses was more than
ever like a little nun. She was remote, too, like a nun, wrapped not
in the contemplation of her religion, but of her love.
She still made toys, and the proceeds of the sale of Lovely Dreams had
been contributed by herself and Emily for Red Cross purposes.
Pages:
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375