She saw the expression change in his face, saw the blank look go out of his eyes, saw the understanding look come in. It was a long rich interchange of meanings that took place as they sat staring hard at each other, the gaunt, middle-aged man no longer merely a doctor, the dull middle-aged woman, transfigured to essential wisdom by the divination of her loving heart. Profound and human things passed from one to the other. Mattie heard some one stirring in the house. “I must go! I must go!” she said groaningly. She limped down the path. Her feet were aching like the toothache with the haste of her expeditions that afternoon. * * * * * Half an hour later they had to come out and call the doctor to supper, fairly to shout in his ear he was so sunk in his thoughts, the evening paper lying unread across his knees. “Mercy me! Didn’t you hear the supper bell?” cried his wife. “It’s been ringing like anything!” Chapter 20 On the evening of the day when Mrs. Knapp was informed that she would be put in Miss Flynn’s place Helen and her father celebrated by making an omelette with asparagus tips (Mother’s favorite supper dish) and Henry was sent scurrying out to bring back a brick of mixed vanilla and chocolate from Angelotti’s Ice-Cream Parlor. They did not play whist that evening. They just sat around and talked it over and admired Mother and heard again and again about the thrice-blessed events in the family of Miss Flynn’s niece, which led to her retirement. “Of course it’s terribly, terribly sad!” Mother reminded them. “Those poor little children left without their mother! Nothing--_nothing_ can ever make up to them for such a loss.” But this decent observation cast no shade over the rejoicings. Miss Flynn was but a remote and disagreeable legend to the children; and she had been a particular _bête-noire_ for Lester in the old days. As for her utterly unknown niece--no, Mother could not make that shadowy death cast anything but sunshine into their lives. They went on planning all the more energetically about the things they could do if they could have a Ford and go off to the country together for picnics on Sundays--even Father! They talked about which college Helen would like to attend. They talked about which kind of bicycle Henry liked the best. The children joined in the talk till nine o’clock, and long after they were in bed with their lights out they could hear the distant murmur of Father’s and Mother’s voices going on planning, such a friendly, cheerful, easy sort of murmur. Helen could not remember when she had ever heard Father and Mother talk together like that. It was like music in her ears. The last thought she had before she fell asleep was, “I am so happy! I never was so happy!”