"There, there, Sadie!" he said in his throat, and, stooping over her: "I
give in! I give in!"
Her head flew up.
"Herm!"
"My son!"
"No, no, ma, it's no use trying to put anything but a jingle-bell
harness on poor little Jingle Bells. She don't understand us any more
than we--we can understand her!"
"That's it, Herm; that's why I say if you'll only let me go!"
"Oh, my God! A separation in the Loeb family? My poor dead husband! My
daughter Etta, president of the Ladies' Auxiliary! Grandma--"
"'Sh-h-h, ma! You want grandma to hear?"
"My son, the cleanest, finest--"
"Ma!" There were lines in his face as if a knot at his heart were
tightening them. "You mustn't blame her, ma; and, Sadie, you mustn't
feel this way toward my mother. Nobody's to blame. I've been thinking
this thing over more than you think, Sadie, and I--I give in. She's a
poor little thing, ma, that's been trapped into something she can't
fit into."
"Yes, Herm, that's it."
"It's natural. My fault, too. I carried her off like a partridge. Don't
cry, little Jingle Bells! To-morrow night we leave for New York, and
when I come back you're going to stay on with--"
"Sylvette says--"
"With friends, indefinitely.
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