"To a penny. And it"s in the bank to your credit. But I didn"t stop there." Bob"s voice hardened. "I went to your mother and in your name I promised her the income from it so long, and only so long, as she and Peter stayed away from you. She accepted--rather greedily, I thought--and they have gone back to Vale. They have your old house, and I have their promise never to see you except upon your invitation. Of course you can go to them whenever you wish, but--they"re happy, and I think we will be happier with them in Vale than in New York. I hope you don"t object to my arrangement."
There was a long silence, then Lorelei sighed. "You are a very good man, Bob. It was my dream to do something of this sort, but I could never have done it so well."
Her husband bent and kissed her tenderly. "It wasn"t all my doings; I had help. And you mustn"t feel sad, for something tells me you"re going to learn finally the meaning of a real mother"s love."
"Yes--yes!" The answer came dreamily, then as a fretful complaint issued from the crib at her side Lorelei leaned forward and swiftly gathered the baby into her arms.
"Is he sick?" Bob questioned, in alarm.
"No, silly. He"s only hungry."
There in the gathering dusk Bob Wharton looked on at a sight that never failed to thrill him strangely. In his wife"s face was a beautiful content, and it seemed to him fitting indeed that this country girl who had come to the city in quest of Life should end her search thus, with a baby at her breast.
THE END