at only that morning she
had referred to the dead musician as a "derelict" and "no good for
anything."

"Yes," said the invalid musing. "Not quite like the rest of us. And I
see now that he never would have been. I used to think--but the
difference was too deep. It was fundamental.... I feel ... as if
he knew it ... and just wandered on."

"But you?" Desire ventured this almost timidly. The quietness seemed to
intensify in the room. Then the invalid's voice, serene, distant.

"I? ... There is no hurry.... He has his fiddle, you see...."
Miss Martin smiled and the smile held no bitterness. So might a mother
have smiled over a thoughtless child who turns away from a love he is
too young to value.

Desire was silent.

"I did not know love was like that," she said after a long pause. "But
perhaps I do not know anything about love at all."

The older woman looked at her with quiet scrutiny.

"You will," she said.

After that they talked of other things until the doctor came to take
Desire home.

"Queer thing," he said as he threw in the clutch, "I believe she looks
a little better already. That was an excellent idea of yours."

"It was anything but an excellent idea." Desire's tone was taut with
emotional reaction. "Fortunately, it did no harm. But I don't know what
you were thinking of to allow it."

"Allow it?" In surprised injury.

Desire did not take up the challenge. She was looking, he thought,
unusually excited. There was faint color on her cheek. Her hands,
generally so quiet, clasped and unclasped her handbag with an
irritating click. Being a wise man, Rogers waited until the clicking
had subsided. Then, "What's the matter?" he asked mildly.

"John," said Desire, "do you know anything about love?"

"I see you do," she added as the car leapt forward, narrowly missing a
surprised cow. "So perhaps you will laugh at my new wisdom. I learned
something to-day."

The car was giving trouble. For a few moments its eccentricities
required its driver's undivided attention. Even when it was running
smoothly again, he appeared preoccupied. But Desire was seldom in a
hurry. She waited until he was quite ready.

"You learned something--about love?" asked John gruffly.

"Yes. Have you a sore throat? Your voice sounds all dusty. I used to
think," she went on dreamily, "that love was something that came from
outside. That it depended on things. But it doesn't depend on anything
and it's not outside at all."