CHAPTER III


Each day brought graduation day nearer, and Mrs. Blaine, becoming more
and more nervous as the great event approached, made strenuous efforts
to get the dress finished in time. There were vexatious delays without
number. It was difficult to find the right material or else something
went wrong with the measurements and all had to be done over again.
From morning till night, day after day, the old lady sat in doors, at
the table piled high with dressmaker's litter, deeply engrossed in her
self-appointed labor of love.

In vain Virginia and Fanny protested. Their mother refused to listen
to them. This dress, she insisted, was her one joy in life. It would
be cruel to deprive her of anything which afforded her so much
pleasure. They said no more, but they noticed with alarm that each day
their mother seemed to age a year. Her cheeks became more hollow, her
face more chalky white. She complained continually of pains in the
region of the heart, and it was plainly discernible that she was
rapidly growing more feeble.

One day when Dr. Everett was paying them one of his regular weekly
visits Virginia took him aside and told him of her anxiety. He seemed
to know already what she had to say. Taking both her hands in his, in
that big-hearted, paternal manner so characteristic of him, he said
impressively:

"Dear child--you must be brave. You cannot expect to have your mother
always with you. She is tired and world-weary. She has earned that
beautiful, eternal sleep which alone brings perfect peace. An organic