Olive Higgins Prouty

“ Morrison's frank and open recognition of her mother as a human being, and a human being, too, not unlike her lovely self, warmed Laurel, thawed out her mistrust and fear.
Before twenty-four hours had passed Laurel was worshiping Mrs. Morrison with that admiring kind of worship that a young girl, not quite a child, and yet not quite a woman, often feels for some stranger who stops and smiles. ”

“ Her father should know nothing of her ignorance.
On many topics Laurel was as frank and open with her father as any artless child. But she had her reservations. She had great expanses of thought and experience she never let him glimpse at. She never mentioned her mother's name to him. She made as little reference as possible even to her life with her mother. By the time she was thirteen this silence had become like a wall between Laurel and her father. Stephen was aware of it. It loomed high and blank between them, and shut much of Laurel away from him. But it also shut much of Stella, too. ”

“ One of the reasons Laurel always looked forward with such joy to the month with her father was that there never were any slights—never any fear of any slights. His presence seemed to prevent the possibility of slights. Everybody to whom he introduced her in his fine proud manner as "my daughter Laurel," treated her with the same kindness—almost deference—with which they treated him. Mrs. Morrison had been kindness itself to her a year ago, at tea in the hotel, but her father had been there then. Ladies had a way of being kind when men were about, Laurel had discovered. ”