ick? Perhaps she needed a few days off. "I must have a talk with her,"
Edith thought, "as soon as father and Deborah go."

Roger always liked to come here. Say what you would about Edith's habit of
keeping too closely to her home, the children to whom she had devoted
herself were a fine, clean, happy lot. Here were new lives in his family,
glorious fresh beginnings. He sat on the floor with her three boys,
watching the patient efforts of George to harness his perturbed white rat
to Tad's small fire engine. George was a lank sprawling lad of fourteen,
all legs and arms and elbows, with rumpled hair and freckled face, a quick
bright smile and nice brown eyes--frank, simple, understandable eyes. All
but one of Edith's children were boys, and boys were a blessed relief to a
man who had three grown-up daughters.

And while Roger watched them, with a gentle glow of anticipation he waited
for what should follow, when as had been already arranged Deborah should
break to her sister the news of Laura's engagement. And he was not
disappointed. The change in Edith was something tremendous. Until now so
quietly self-absorbed, at the news that Laura was to be married instantly
she was all alert. Sitting there in the midst of her children and facing a
time of agony only a few weeks ahead which would add one more to her
family, Edith's pretty florid face grew flushed and radiant as she
exclaimed,

"What a perfectly wonderful thing for Laura! Now if only she can have a
child!"

Her questions followed thick and fast, and with them her thoughts of what
should be done. Bruce must look up this suitor at once. Bruce demurred
stoutly but without avail. She eagerly questioned her sister as to Laura's
plans for the wedding, but plainly she considered that Deborah was no woman
to give her the full information she wanted. She must see Laura herself at
once. For though she had thoroughly disapproved of the gay helter-skelter
existence of her youngest sister, still Laura was now to be married, and
this made all the difference.

Just before Roger and Deborah left, Edith drew her father aside, and with a
curious concern and pity in her voice, she said,

"I'm so sorry I shan't be able to help you with the wedding, dear, and make
it the sweet old-fashioned kind that mother would have wanted. Of course
there's Deborah, she'll be there. But her head is so full of new ideas. I'm
afraid she may find the house rather a burden after Laura has gone away.