ut soon after
the real estate venture ended he became only austere, to which there
was added something almost like apprehension. And this in her husband
was to her of intense concern.

"I can't say," she began a little timidly. "Peter has been telling me
for months he's going to resign and live at ease, but it's always a
matter of waiting just a little longer. I can't help longing for the
old days. Perhaps there was less comfort but--" she added
pathetically, "there was also less restlessness. I suppose I'm out of
date."

"Did you see Mr. Clark to-day?" broke in Mrs. Dibbott, changing the
subject with swift intuition.

"Yes, the first time he has been in church."

"He's not interested in us," announced Mrs. Bowers, with the manner of
one who delivers an axiom, "not a little bit. St. Marys happens to be
the town near the works, and we happen to be the people in it, that's
all."

Mrs. Dibbott's flexible fingers curved and met. "Why should he be? We
haven't done anything for him, except allow him to shoulder the town
debt. And there isn't a woman alive who means anything to him, in one
sense. He's in love--but with his work. There's no room for one of
us, and, if he had a wife we'd only discuss her like a lot of cats.
Let's be honest--you both know we would."

The others laughed and went their way, Mrs. Bowers to the big house
near the station. It had a new porch and an iron fence and was freshly
painted. In former days it never suggested personal resources as it
did now. A little later Mrs. Manson turned into the gravel walk that
led to the small stone annex of the big stone jail. Instead of going
upstairs, she stopped at her husband's office and knocked, as she
always did.

"Come in," boomed a deep voice.

Manson was at his desk and still in his Sunday best. He had taken the
flower out of his buttonhole and laid it on a printed notice of the
next assize court. She stood looking at him, their faces almost
level--such was his great bulk.

"Peter," she said gravely, "I want to talk to you."

Something in her manner impressed him and he pushed back his chair.
"What is it?"

"We don't seem to have much time to talk nowadays."

"There's no reason we shouldn't."

"That's just it--but we don't. Now I want to ask you something and,
Peter, you mustn't put me off--as you always do.

"It's about ourselves," she went on, with a long breath, "but
principally about you--and it concerns the children