eappear with the
child seated on his shoulder. He passed through the gateway between the
garden and the patio with measured steps, careful of his light burden.

The doctor, with his back to Mrs. Gould, contemplated a flower-bed away
in the sunshine. People believed him scornful and soured. The truth
of his nature consisted in his capacity for passion and in the
sensitiveness of his temperament. What he lacked was the polished
callousness of men of the world, the callousness from which springs
an easy tolerance for oneself and others; the tolerance wide as
poles asunder from true sympathy and human compassion. This want of
callousness accounted for his sardonic turn of mind and his biting
speeches.

In profound silence, and glaring viciously at the brilliant flower-bed,
Dr. Monygham poured mental imprecations on Charles Gould's head. Behind
him the immobility of Mrs. Gould added to the grace of her seated
figure the charm of art, of an attitude caught and interpreted for ever.
Turning abruptly, the doctor took his leave.

Mrs. Gould leaned back in the shade of the big trees planted in a
circle. She leaned back with her eyes closed and her white hands lying
idle on the arms of her seat. The half-light under the thick mass of
leaves brought out the youthful prettiness of her face; made the clear,
light fabrics and white lace of her dress appear luminous. Small and
dainty, as if radiating a light of her own in the deep shade of the
interlaced boughs, she resembled a good fairy, weary with a long career
of well-doing, touched by the withering suspicion of the uselessness of
her labours, the powerlessness of her magic.

Had anybody asked her of what she was thinking, alone in the garden
of the Casa, with her husband at the mine and the house closed to the
street like an empty dwelling, her frankness would have had to evade the
question. It had come into her mind that for life to be large and full,
it must contain the care of the past and of the future in every passing
moment of the present. Our daily work must be done to the glory of the
dead, and for the good of those who come after. She thought that, and
sighed without opening her eyes--without moving at all. Mrs. Gould's
face became set and rigid for a second, as if to receive, without
flinching, a great wave of loneliness that swept over her head. And it
came into her mind, too, that no one would ever ask her with solicitude
what she was thinking of. No one. No one, b