CHAPTER XIX
ALICE was softly crooning to herself as her mother turned the corner of the house and approached through the dusk.
"Isn't it the most beautiful evening!" the daughter said. "Why can't summer last all year? Did you ever know a lovelier twilight than this, mama?"
Mrs. Adams laughed, and answered, "Not since I was your age, I expect."
Alice was wistful at once. "Don't they stay beautiful after my age?"
"Well, it's not the same thing."
"Isn't it? Not—ever?"
"You may have a different kind from mine," the mother said, a little sadly. "I think you will, Alice. You deserve———"
"No, I don't. I don't deserve anything, and I know it. But I'm getting a great deal these days—more than I ever dreamed could come to me. I'm—I'm pretty happy, mama!"
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