MARIAN KING

It was in March, six months later, that Marian King came. They had
hoped for it, but never expected it. And she came. Four people were
waiting in the living room of the big Baldwin house overlooking the
river. Flora and her husband, Adele and Aunt Sophy. They sat,
waiting. Now and then Adele would rise, nervously, and go to the
window that faced the street. Flora was weeping with audible sniffs.
Baldwin sat in his chair, frowning a little, a dead cigar in one corner
of his mouth. Only Aunt Sophy sat quietly, waiting.

There was little conversation. None in the last five minutes. Flora
broke the silence, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief as she
spoke.

"Sophy, how can you sit there like that? Not that I don't envy you. I
do. I remember I used to feel sorry for you. I used to say 'Poor
Sophy.' But you unmarried ones are the happiest, after all. It's the
married woman who drinks the cup to the last, bitter drop. There you
sit, Sophy, fifty years old, and life hasn't even touched you. You
don't know how cruel life can be to a mother."

Suddenly, "There!" said Adele. The other three in the room stood up
and faced the door. The sound of a motor stopping outside. Daniel
Oakley's hearty voice: "Well, it only took us five minutes from the
station. Pretty good."

Footsteps down the hall. Marian King stood in the doorway. They faced
her, the four--Baldwin and Adele and Flora and Sophy. Marian King stood
a moment, uncertainly, her eyes upon them. She looked at the two older
women with swift, appraising glances. Then she came into the room,
quickly, and put her two hands on Aunt Soph's shoulders and looked into
her eyes straight and sure.

"You must be a very proud woman," she said. "You ought to be a very
proud woman."

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of One Basket, by Edna Ferber

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