tisfy the maternal
instinct in women. It excited their emotions and gave them the
impression that these emotions were satisfying. They were not. He hinted
that if May would consult any pathologist he would tell her that, in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a life like hers, seemingly so full,
would not save a woman from the disastrous effects of being childless.

Now, Boreham was convinced that women rarely understand what it is they
really want. Women believe that they want to become clerks or postmen or
lawyers, when all the time what they want and need is to become mothers.
For instance, it was a common thing for a woman who had no interest in
drama and who couldn't act, to want to be an actress. What she really
wanted then was an increased opportunity of meeting the other sex.

Boreham put this before May Dashwood, and was gratified at the reception
of his remarks.

"What you say _is_ true," she said, "though so few people have the
courage to say it."

Boreham went on. He felt that May Dashwood, in spite of all her
sharpness, was profoundly ignorant of her own psychology. It was
necessary to enlighten her, to make her understand that it was not her
duty to go on mourning for a husband who was dead, but that it was her
duty to make the best of her own life. He entirely exonerated her from
the charge of humbug in her desire to mother slum children; all he
wanted was for her to understand that it wasn't of any use either to
herself or to the community. How well she was taking it!

He had barely finished speaking when he became unpleasantly aware that
two ladies, who had just entered, were staring at himself and his
companion instead of examining the hall. The strangers were foreigners,
to judge by the boldness with which they wore hats that bore no relation
to the shape or the dignity of the human head. They were evidently
arrested and curious.

May did not speak for some moments, after they both moved away from the
portraits. Boreham watched her, rather breathlessly, for things were
going right and coming to a crisis.

"You are quite right," she repeated, at last. "But people haven't the
courage to say so!"

"You think so?" he replied eagerly. He now appreciated, as he had never
done before, how much he scored by possessing, along with the subtle
intuitions of the Celt, the plain common-sense of his English mother.

"I am preparing my mind," said May, as they approached the door of the
hall, "to face a f