mean, and I believe it was. I would not have had
it annihilated, when the first mood was over.'

'It was that which made it so hard to you to come home, was it not?'

'Yes; but it was odd enough, however hard it was to think of coming,
you always sent me away more at peace, Ethel. I can't think how you
did it, knowing nothing.'

'I think you came at the right time.'

'You see, I did think that while Spencer lived, I might follow up the
track, and see a little of the world--try if that would put out that
face and voice. But it won't do. If this hadn't happened, I would
have tied myself down, and done my best to get comfort out of you, and
the hospital, and these 'Diseases of Climate'--I suppose one might in
time, if things went well with her; but, as it is, I can't rest till I
have seen if they can be got home again. So, Ethel, don't mind if I go
before my father comes home. I can't stand explanations with him, and
I had rather you did not proclaim this. You see the book, and getting
Henry home, are really the reasons, and I shan't molest her
again--no--not till she has learnt to know what is irony.'

'I think if you did talk it over with papa, you would feel the comfort,
and know him better.'

'Well, well, I dare say, but I can't do it, Ethel. Either he shuts me
up at first, with some joke, or--' and Tom stopped; but Ethel knew what
he meant. There was on her father's side an involuntary absence of
perfect trust in this son, and on Tom's there was a character so
sensitive that her father's playfulness grated, and so reserved that
his demonstrative feelings were a still greater trial to one who could
not endure outward emotion. 'Besides,' added Tom, 'there is really
nothing--nothing to tell. I'm not going to commit myself. I don't
know whether I ever shall. I was mad that day, and I want to satisfy
my mind whether I think the same now I am sane, and if I do, I shall
have enough to do to make her forget the winter when I made myself such
an ass. When I have done that, it may be time to speak to my father.
I really am going out about the book. When did you hear last?'

'That is what makes me anxious. I have not heard for two months, and
that is longer than she ever was before without writing, except when
Minna was ill.'

'We shall know if Leonard has heard.'

'No, she always writes under cover to us.'

The course that the conversation then took did not look much like Tom's
doubt whether his own