"Sure and it did!" cried Mrs. Moira, trying to throw excitement into
her voice to please the invalid man. Big Danny took childish pleasure in
listening for the incoming and New York-bound trains.
"What's keeping Dale? Prob'bly hanging 'round the Inn!"
Mrs. Moira smothered the quick retort that sprang to her lips in defense
of her boy.
"He'll be here any minute," she said instead, comfortingly. "There he is
now!" Her quick ear had caught a step outside.
Beryl, not Dale, opened the door and confronted them. Suppressed
excitement, impatience, eagerness, an inward disgust of herself for
being a "selfish thing anyway" combined to give Beryl's face such an
unnatural pallor and haggard tensity of expression that big Danny
whirled his chair toward her and Mrs. Lynch caught her hands over her
heart.
"Beryl?" she cried, standing quite still.
Beryl walked to her and very quietly gathered her into her young arms.
"Don't look so scared, Mom, dear. Oh, _don't_ cry! Why, I'm near crying
myself! After I've told you all that has happened I shall just _bawl_.
I'm too dreadfully happy. Sit down here, Mom, and hold my hand tight.
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