A longing to be back there doing the things she
knew she could do, a longing to have again that sure sense of her work as
good, swept over her then. She was accustomed to a sense of mastery; it
was that made some of these things so hard. It was not easy to make over
one's soul, even when it was love called one on. As she went steadily
ahead with her task, working out painstakingly the correction Beason had
made, she wondered whether there were as many tears back of other smiles
as there had often been back of hers.
But she had been able to smile!--that was something for which to give
thanks. Not even Karl himself would ever know what she had gone through,
but what she had gone through was of small consequence could she but push
her way on to what she was confident awaited her. There was sustaining
power in that thought: her hands did not tremble now, her eyes were
clear; she worked on steadily and firmly.
One thing which had unnerved her was that Karl had seemed to hate to have
her go away that morning.
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