a-cup, carried too, a better opinion of Annabel Sinclair than she
would have believed possible.

"I never thought she cared anything much for Diantha," she told Persis
who had dropped in several times during the day to see how matters were
progressing. "But I must say, I did her an injustice. She's been
pretty nearly crazy all day. She looks like a ghost."

"Well, she's Diantha's mother when all's said and done," Persis
responded. Happiness makes for tolerance. With all her charity for
the wrong-doer, Persis had made an exception of Annabel Sinclair. But
now the years of fatness, following instead of preceding the lean
years, the overflowing fulness of her heart and life had taught her new
indulgence. She was capable of believing that there was good in the
woman.

The afternoon dragged cruelly. Now and then some faint sound reached
Annabel, vaguely suggestive of the battle which must be waged for every
new existence, and each time the sagging body of the woman stiffened,
and her breath grew hurried. Once Thad passed her window, his young
face set and white, and his eyes reddened as if from weeping. Annabel
shrank away fearful that his glance might fall on her, but the fixed
eyes of the young husband saw only his wife's girlish face as he had
seen it last, colorless, quivering, undaunted.

It was not far from four o'clock when the sound of hurrying feet
quickened Annabel's lagging pulses. A door shut quickly and then
another. Some one was hurrying down the hall; some one who brought
news. Annabel found herself on her feet. And then, instinctively she
caught at the back of her chair to support herself, for the floor was
undulating and the sunny room had grown dark.

Out of the shapeless blur in which her surroundings blended, a face
took shape, the face of Mrs. West, wet with tears and radiant with
smiles. It was she who had sped so lightly down the long hall as if
joy had given wings to her feet.

"It's a boy!" She laughed out the three exultant words and hurried
back to some interrupted task. Annabel continued to stand. When at
length she released her grip of the chair, her fingers were numb and
stiff. The thought crossed her mind that now she was at liberty to go
home, since her grandson had come into the world, but the effort seemed
beyond her strength. She sank into the chair again, half closing her
eyes. The poignant pain of the past hours had changed to an
overwhelming listlessness. She