"Never."

"As if it hasn't been terrible enough that you should have to know. But
it's over, Alma. Your bad times with me are finished. I'm cured."

There were no words that Miss Samstag could force through the choke of
her tears, so she sat cheek to her mother's cheek, the trembling she
could no longer control racing through her like a chill.

"Oh--how--I hope so!"

"I know so."

"But wait a little while, mamma--just a year."

"No! No!"

"A few months."

"No, he wants it soon. The sooner the better at our age. Alma, mamma's
cured! What happiness! Kiss me, darling. So help me God to keep my
promises to you! Cured, Alma, cured."

And so in the end, with a smile on her lips that belied almost to
herself the little run of fear through her heart, Alma's last kiss to
her mother that night was the long one of felicitation.

And because love, even the talk of it, is so gamy on the lips of woman
to woman, they lay in bed, heartbeat to heartbeat, the electric pad
under her pillow warm to the hurt of Mrs. Samstag's brow, and talked,