e always, as she put it, lived in the rooms she conceived.
Here were real furniture--diminutive, but perfect, and real
hangings--colour and form ideal, and arranged so that they could be
shifted in order that light effects might be tested.

It was no wonder Truedale had often remarked that Lynda's work was so
individual and personal--she breathed the breath of life in it before
she let it go from her. Truedale had always been thankful that marriage
had not taken from Lynda her joy in her profession. He would have hated
to know that he interfered with so real and vital a gift.

But this room upon which he was now looking was different from anything
he had ever before seen in the workshop. It interested and puzzled him.

Lynda's specialties were libraries and living rooms; there were two or
three things she never attempted--and this? Truedale looked closer. How
pretty it was--like a child's playroom--and how fanciful! There was a
fireplace off in a corner, before which stood a screen with a most
benign goblin warning away, with spread claws, any heedless, toddling
feet. The broad window-seats might serve as boxes for childish treasure.
There were delectable, wee chairs and conveniently low stools; there was
a tiny bed set in a dim corner over which, on a protecting shield,
angels with folded wings and rapt faces were outlined.

"Why, this must be a--nursery!" Truedale exclaimed half aloud; "and she
said she would never design one."

Clearly he recalled Lynda's reason. "If a father and a mother cannot
conceive and carry out the needs of a nursery, they do not deserve one.
I could never bring myself to intrude there."

"What does this mean?" Truedale bent closer. The table had been painted
white to serve as a floor for the dainty setting, and now, as he looked
he saw stains--dark, tell-tale stains on the shining surface.

They were tear-stains; Lynda, who so joyously put her heart and soul in
the ideals for other homes, had wept over the nursery of another woman's
child!

For some reason Truedale was that day particularly open to impression.
As he sat with the toy-like emblems before him, the holiest and
strongest things of life seized upon him with terrific meaning. He drew
out his watch and saw that it was the dinner hour and the still house
proved that the mistress was yet absent.

"There is only one person to whom she would go," he murmured. "I'll go
to Betty's and bring Lynda home."

He made an explanation t