The elderly landlady had let her stay on, helping in the
work of the house; and when even this last refuge had failed her,
well-meaning folk had interested themselves and secured her
employment. It was light and fairly well paid, but there were
objections to it, so he gathered, more from her halting silences
than from what she said. She had tried for a time to find something
else, but it was so difficult without help or resources. There was
nothing really to complain about it, except-- And then she paused
with a sudden clasp of the gloved hands, and, seeing the troubled
look in her eyes, he had changed the conversation.
It did not matter; he would take her away from it. It was very
sweet to him, the thought of putting a protective arm about this
little fragile creature whose weakness gave him strength. He was
not always going to be a clerk in an office. He was going to write
poetry, books, plays. Already he had earned a little. He told her
of his hopes, and her great faith in him gave him new courage. One
evening, finding a seat where few people ever passed, he read to
her. And she had understood. All unconsciously she laughed in the
right places, and when his own voice trembled, and he found it
difficult to continue for the lump in his own throat, glancing at
her he saw the tears were in her eyes.
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