Olive Higgins Prouty

“ Morrison.
"Let's," said Laurel, and they leaned down together over the low-growing flowers.
Laurel's heart was beating fast. She could feel it. Between herself and this lovely lady the gossamer-like bond of sympathy, as delicate at first as a thread of a spider's web, had become now as strong as the silk cable pearls are strung on. It would bear actual spoken words about her father's and mother's separation!
"Is there anything in the world softer than the petal of a pansy!" remarked Mrs. Morrison, pressing one of the flowers against her lips, and gently drawing it across them. ”

“ Laurel considered. Her mother had often told her that her pearls and imitation diamond bar-pin would pass for the genuine articles anywhere.
"They look just like the real ones," she told Mrs. Morrison.
"Oh, no, Laurel, not to a person who knows pearls. They lack inner beauty, just as a wax figure lacks soul. To the really discerning they're as lifeless and unbeautiful as that." Then, with a sudden happy inspiration, as she thought, Helen Morrison added, "Your mother has trimmed several of your pretty dresses with narrow filet lace, but there isn't an inch of imitation filet." ”

“ So far the undesirable influences haven't hurt Laurel a bit."
"But she's getting older, Helen. Her youth and innocence cannot protect her always."
"Oh, I know, I know," agreed Helen; "I've thought of that, too. It's a pity. I'm so sorry, Stephen. Let her stay with me often—whenever you can. See them in there—all so happy. Don't take her to a hotel when she comes for the visits. ”