inhuman flawlessness.

Thus Mavis lived for the weeks she stayed at Melkbridge House. But at
all times, no matter what she might be doing, she was liable to be
attacked by bitter, heart-rending grief at the loss of her child. Mavis
had already suffered so much that she was now able to distinguish the
pains peculiar to the different varieties of sorrow. This particular
grief took the shape of a piteous, persistent heart hunger which
nothing could stay. Joined to this was a ceaseless longing for the lost
one, which cast drear shadows upon the bright hues of life. The way in
which she was compelled to isolate her pain from all human sympathy did
not diminish its violence.

One night, when the Devitts were entertaining their kind, the
conversation at dinner touched upon a local petty sessions case, in
which the nursemaid of one of those present had been punished for
concealing the birth of an illegitimate child, who had since died.

"It was a great worry to me," complained the nurse's mistress. "She was
such a perfect nurse."

"I hope you'll do something for her when she comes out," urged Harold.

The woman stared at Harold in astonishment.

"Think how the poor girl's suffered," he continued.

"Do you really think so?" asked the woman.

"She's lost her child."

"But I always understood that those who lose children out of wedlock
cannot possible grieve like married women who have the same loss."

In a moment Mavis's thoughts flew to Pennington Churchyard, where her
heart seemed buried deep below the grass; certain of her facial nerves
twitched, while tears filled her eyes. Devitt's voice recalled her to
her surroundings; she looked up, to catch his eyes looking kindly into
hers. Although she made an effort to join in the talk, she was mentally
bowing her head, the while her being ached with anguish. She did not
recover her spirits for the rest of the evening.

There came a day when one of the big guns of the financial world was
expected to dinner. Mavis had many times met at Melkbridge House some
of the lesser artillery of successful business men, when she had been
surprised to discover what dull, uninteresting folk they were; apart
from their devotion to the cult of money-getting, they did not seem to
have another interest in life, the ceaseless quest for gold absorbing
all their vitality. This big gun was a Sir Frederick Buntz, whose
interest Devitt, as he told Mavis, was anxious to secure in one of his
compan