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Or it might be
her fate to love without attracting love--to drain all the blood out of
her life in necessary sacrifices; to wither that some one else might
have a chance to grow. Those possibilities were all there before these
two solemn, staring, little helpless things on the bed. What toys of
Chance they were!
She'd never thought of them like that before. The baby she had looked
forward to--the baby she hadn't had--had never been thought of that way
either. It was to be something to provide her, Rose, with an occupation;
to enable her to interpret her life in new terms; to make an alchemic
change in the very substance of it. The transmutation hadn't taken
place. She surmised now, dimly, that she hadn't deserved it should.
"You've never had a mother at all, you poor little mites," she said.
"But you're going to have one some day. You're going to be able to come
to her with your troubles, because she'll have had troubles herself.
She'll help you bear your hurts, because she's had hurts of her own.


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