“But I am sorry,” she exclaimed. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. " "They are useless," she returned. “Morning, Mom. I did not know what I was saying. ’ ‘Only a few minutes, miss. ’” “Yes?” “I think—yes, I went on in a pleasing blend of the casual and sotto voce, ‘The fact of it is, sir, I happen to be your son-in-law, Capes.
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