She had no one to make happy with her news but her distant mother.

Then some days passed before she heard again--that did not seem strange.

There was, of course, the going home, the change of scene, the constant occupation.
Madaline would write when she had time.

At the end of a week she heard again; and then it struck her that the letter was dull, unlike one written by a happy bride--but of course she must be mistaken--why should not Madaline be happy?
After that the letters came regularly, and Madaline said that the greatest pleasure she had lay in helping her mother.

She said that she intended to make her a certain allowance, which she felt quite sure would be continued to her after her death, should that event precede her mother's; so that at last, for the weary-hearted woman, came an interval of something like contentment.