"And now I must go away!" mourned Fetzer.
One Sunday evening early in December, she carried him his supper and sat down near him in the only straight chair, a more comfortable seat being according to her code unsuitable. When she entered she saw him fold a letter and put it into his pocket, and recognized the size and shape. Poor Ellen--Fetzer hoped that she did not write as she had looked! Though she understood Ellen's earlier history, it seemed to her, all else aside, that Ellen had lifted her eyes to an unattainable star.
As Stephen praised her sandwiches and tea, and asked her about the preacher and the choir and the attendance, she quite forgot all her worries, forgot poor Ellen, forgot her wicked husband with whom she would soon have to live, forgot everything but her adoration. But she was soon recalled from her dreams. Stephen put aside his cup and began to walk up and down the room.
"Stay and gossip a while, Fetzer. We must plan a nice Christmas for Ellen."
"No, but we went to see her. This year she's to come home."
Fetzer began to smooth the seams of her black silk dress. It was a present from Stephen and she felt like a queen in it. She passed over the astonishing word "home."
"Oh, wreaths and holly and flowers and a turkey and presents--such a Christmas as young people like. I don't suppose she's had a real Christmas for a long time. She was here two years ago, wasn't she? What did you give her then?"
Stephen laughed and Fetzer began to tremble. It was her feminine duty to protect Ellen.
"Do you suppose it is best for her to come? On account of her lessons?"
"She won't have any lessons. Of course she's coming! Wasn't she here all summer?"
Fetzer said in her heart, "But you weren't here!" Aloud she said, "Does she know she is to come?"
"Know it? Why, this is her home, Fetzer--surely you understand that!" He stopped in his walk and looked down. Fetzer was not one to make difficulties. "I should think you'd be glad to have her. She's young, and youth is everything."
With a great effort Fetzer raised her eyes. She was not thinking of Stephen or of herself, but with deep unselfish concern of Ellen. It was hideous to want what one could not have!
"I should think she'd like to be with young people," she said with a little gasp.