izie and Peter to the seashore for a whole
month. There, Suzanna! What do you think of that?"

Suzanna stood absolutely still. Then exclaimed: "To the seashore,
mother! Why--I don't think I can stand the joy of it. Oh, mother, I'm
too happy!"

CHAPTER XXIII

TO THE SEASHORE

Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett sat in her own perfectly appointed room one
morning in late June. She sat quietly, hands folded. She could hear
Graham, her son, downstairs beneath her window talking to David and
Daphne. She caught disconnected words. They floated to her broken like
meaningless flakes of snow.

She had just returned from her call on Mrs. Procter, that impulsive call
made on the wings of an impulsive, quixotic thought. There still
remained sharp in her memory the picture of the little home; the busy
mother, washing out small woolen garments. She had gone unconsciously
prepared to patronize and had returned completely shorn of her feeling
of superiority. In truth, a little envy for that sweet-faced mother was
in her heart.

From the time when her husband's mother died, she had not been happy.
Pursuits that hitherto had satisfied her altogether lost their power.
New values were slowly born in her. Still possessing a degree of
sensibility not killed by her false life, she had been by the attitude
of her husband and her son, able to see herself clearly. Both had been
dependent upon her in a measure for their happiness, and she had failed
them. Their reaction had hurt her bitterly.

She had tried in the past two years to make amends, but some hurts heal
slowly. Perhaps it was hard for her husband and son to realize that she
was trying to make amends. In any event, each went his separate way, a
household divided. Early in the morning had come the thought of the
seashore and she had wasted no time in seeking the little home. And now
its atmosphere filled her mind.

She heard Daphne's young voice, and a sudden rare pity filled her for
the motherless child, her gardener's daughter. She would ask Daphne,
too.

She went to seek David, and as she came upon him spading a flower bed,
the two children with him, a station carriage stopped before the big
iron gates and her husband alighted. He had been away on one of his long
trips and was now returning home, unheralded, unexpected.

He came quickly down the path and stopped short at sight of his wife. "I
did not think to find you here," he said.

She did not answer at once. He looke