ly.

They all laughed, and presently Selwyn suggested that his daughter
should run up and see her mother.

"She'll be hurt if you don't go up, kiddy," he said. "And try and be
very nice to her--she's a little tired and upset to-day."

When she had left the room he turned to Sara, a curious blending of
proud reluctance and regret in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Tennant," he said simply, "that you should have seen
our worst side so soon after your arrival. You--you must try and pardon
it--"

"Oh, please, please don't apologize," broke in Sara hastily. "I'm so
sorry I happened to be there just then. It was horrible for you."

He smiled at her wistfully.

"It's very kind of you to take it like that," he said. "After
all"--frankly--"you could not have remained with us very long without
finding out our particular skeleton in the cupboard. My wife's state of
health--or, rather, what she believes to be her state of health--is a
great grief to me. I've tried in every way to convince her that she is
not really so delicate as she imagines, but I've failed utterly."

Now that the ice was broken, he seemed to find relief in pouring out the
pitiful little tragedy of his home life.

"She is comparatively young, you know, Miss Tennant--only thirty-seven,
and she willfully leads the life of a confirmed invalid. It has grown
upon her gradually, this absorption in her health, and now, practically
speaking, Molly has no mother and I no wife."

"Oh, Doctor Dick"--the little nickname, that had its origin in his
slum patients' simple affection for the man who tended them, came
instinctively from her lips. It seemed, somehow, to fit itself to the
big, kindly man with the sternly rugged face and eyes of a saint. "Oh,
Doctor Dick, I'm so sorry--so very sorry!"

Perhaps something in the dainty, well-groomed air of the woman beside
him helped to accentuate the neglected appearance of the room, for
he looked round in an irritated kind of way, as though all at once
conscious of its deficiencies.

"And this--this, too," he muttered. "There's no one at the helm. . . .
The truth is, I ought never to have let you come here."

Sara shook her head.

"I've very glad I came," she said simply. "I think I'm going to be very
happy here."

"You've got grit," he replied quietly. "You'd make a success of your
life anywhere. I wish"--thoughtfully--"Molly had a little of that same
quality. Sometimes"--a worried frown gathered on his face--"I ge