# The Green Jacket/Chapter 18
### XVIII

A little hush of waiting seemed to lie upon the house. All the sounds of expectancy had died away. Outside the men had with drawn from the paths and borders, and their voices came faintly from the kitchen-garden beyond the garage. Inside, Batson's shirt-sleeved figure and red, perspiring face were no longer visible. Only through the long hall the little breeze drew back and forth, and now and then the glimpse of a black dress passed quickly through.
Mrs. Mason could not remain up-stairs in her room, where she went immediately after breakfast, and she could not remain on the terrace, to which she came a few minutes later. She moved aimlessly toward the kitchen-garden and came back and stood by the terrace-balustrade, looking off on the trees—where the driveway emerged. She passed down the steps from the terrace and gathered a little handful of flowers and came back along the terrace, looking at them and arranging them with an absent smile. A few of them fell from her fingers, unheeded, and she trod on them as she came forward. She approached the French window and looked in.
"They will be here soon!" she said.
Milly looked up. "Yes—wouldn't you better rest a little?"
"Rest!" She laughed and reached out her arms in a careless gesture. The flowers slipped through her fingers. "Rest! I am resting. . . . The road off there rests me, and the sun, and every little sound! . . . They all say he is coming home!" She stopped with a catch in her voice.
Milly looked at her critically. She put down her work and came over to the window and stood beside her. The woman was motionless. Her eyes were fixed on the curving driveway. Milly put out a hand and touched her gently.
"See—you are crushing the flowers—you are spoiling them!" She removed them from her fingers. "Give them to me!" she commanded.
The woman relinquished them, looking dully at the bruised petals.
"Now we will get some water for them. Come!" Milly drew her into the room and sent her for a vase and stood over her while she arranged the flowers and placed them in the water.
She looked up with a faint smile and nodded.
"Thank you! I needed just that. . . . I understand. I will be quiet now."
She left the flowers on the table and got up. "I am going to lie down till they come. I will be good!" she said.
Then the house droned in quiet again and Milly went on with her sewing, glancing off now and then to the curving drive, or across to the distant hills. . . . A car came round the curve and she leaned forward a little eagerly to scan the younger of the two men on the back seat. He was shorter than his father, but there was the same look of alert poise in his bearing as the car swept up the curve and paused at the foot of the steps. . . .
Almost before it had ceased running, his foot was on the step and he had crossed the terrace and was at the foot of the stairs, holding his mother in his arms. . . . Through the door the seamstress saw for a moment the look that passed between the two. Then they turned and, with his arm about her, they moved along the hall, talking in broken words.
The father joined them a moment later and they went up-stairs together. There could be no doubt of the happiness in this home-coming. The woman in the sewing-room had only to see their faces to be sure of that. Yet over it and through it all was a kind of constraint—something stiffened by strangeness or disuse, or something held back—through fear—something that dared not trust itself to be wholly at rest.
After a time she saw them out-of-doors, walking about the grounds. Then they passed to a tree on the other side of the terrace and sat down. She could not see the tree from the sewing-room—only the sound of voices came to her and now and then laughter—a little unreal and hesitating, it seemed to her. But the scent of a very good cigar that drifted across to her had nothing unreal in its fragrance. . . .
After a time the figures of the mother and son appeared on the terrace outside her window where the shadow of the house fell across the bricks. They paced back and forth in the shade, talking quietly. Their words came to her—indistinctly at first—then a little louder, the son's voice in protest, it seemed to her.
"But, mother—I cannot! . . . Let me have a little time at home first—with you!"
"But it will seem strange, Stephen—and unfriendly!" The voice was pleading. "We do not want to hurt Elise," she added after a minute.
"It will not hurt Elise," he replied firmly. "Elise has always understood." The words had a secure ring.
"Come, mother—you must lie down and rest. I must take care of you just as I used to!" He bent over her tenderly, and she lifted her face for a kiss. . . .
Then she turned and moved blindly toward the window of the sewing- room. She stepped in, facing the seamstress. Outside on the terrace, Milly could see the son lighting his cigar and placing it to his lips.
The mother's face was helpless and distressed. "Stephen will not go!" she cried. She was vexed like a child; but there was a deeper protest in the disturbed face.
Milly came close to her. "Let your son remain at home, Mrs. Mason," she said quietly.
The woman looked at her. "You, too!" she exclaimed. Her eyes were puzzled.
"I want to talk with him, alone—when he can feel there is no one around. This may be the best chance we shall have—if you both go."
The mother looked at her a little wistfully. "If you say it is best, I will do it. I trust you."
"Yes. It is best," said Milly. "And you will not be sorry. It is the way you can help."
The mother looked at the figure pacing thoughtfully on the terrace, the smoke drifting from his cigar and floating lightly off. She gave a little, apologetic smile.
"I cannot bear to have him out of my sight," she confided.
"And I feel the same," said Milly with a half smile.
"Oh!" breathed the mother. She made a motion to the window as if to protect him. "You think you will discover something!" she cried softly.
"I think so—I hope so."
The woman looked at her sharply and her face paled a little. Then it recovered its smile and she shook her head.
"You are quite wrong!" she said. "He is as innocent as I am!"
"I believe it fully," said Milly. "You can trust him to me. Go now and rest."