"And you found this out, today?"

"Yes. I saw it, in Miss Martin. It was quite plain. What idiots we were
to pity her!"

"Did we pity her?"

The question was mechanical. John was not thinking of Miss Martin. He
was thinking of the faint rose upon Desire's half-turned cheek. Desire
blushing!

"Of course we did. And we had no right. And there is no need."

"Don't let's do it, then," said John. Out of the corner of his eye he
saw, with a quickening of his pulse, how stirred she was. And his
wonder mounted. That Desire, of the cool, grey eyes and unwarmed smile,
should speak of love at all was sufficiently amazing, but that she
should speak of it with tinted cheek was a miracle.

Yet this, he quickly remembered, was something which he had himself
foreseen. He had never really accepted Spence's theory that early
disillusion had seriously poisoned the lifesprings natural to her age.
Her awakening had been certain. He had warned Spence that she would
wake! He felt all the exultation of a prophet who sees his prophecy
fulfilled. But common sense urged caution. To frighten her now might be
fatal. He tried to bring his mind back to Miss Martin.

"At least," he said, "our intentions were admirable. We were trying to
help her."

"We were being very impertinent," affirmed Desire. "Benis told me so
this morning."

"Benis told you?" in surprise.

"Well, he didn't exactly tell me. But I am sure he wanted to."

This was too subtle for the doctor. There were times when he frankly
admitted his inability to bridge Desire's conversational chasms. He was
often puzzled by the things she did not say.

"What was Benis thinking of," he said irritably, "to let you come out
in that bread cart?"

Desire laughed. "I hope he was thinking of the Significance of the
Totem. But I'm almost sure he wasn't."

"Does he ever think of anything but that blessed book of his?"

"I'm afraid he does--occasionally."

"You mean," with sharpened interest, "that he isn't quite as keen on it
as he used to be?"

"I mean that he doesn't like me to work too hard."

"Oh, I see. Perhaps he does not wish you to work too hard for me,
either?"

Desire folded her hands upon her bag and looked primly into space.

"He is a very considerate employer," she remarked mildly. "Take
care--you nearly hit that hen!"

"Oh, d--bother the hen!"

"And he never swears," added Desire with gentle dignity.

They drove for a mile or so without remark and then, Desir