out education. Seriously, I
suppose it has less place in the thoughts of most men and women than
any other business of life?'

'Undoubtedly,' said Rolfe. 'And one is thought a pedant and a bore if
one ever speaks of it. It's as much against good manners as to begin
talking about religion. But a pedant must relieve his mind sometimes.
I'm so glad I met you today; I wanted to hear what you thought about
the boy.'

For the rest of the way, they talked of lighter things; or rather,
Rolfe talked and his companion listened. Nothing more difficult than
easy chat between a well-to-do person of abundant leisure and one whose
days are absorbed in the earning of a bare livelihood. Mary Abbott had
very little matter for conversation beyond the circle of her pursuits;
there was an extraordinary change in her since the days of her married
life, when she had prided herself on talking well, or even brilliantly.
Harvey could not help a feeling of compassion as she walked at his
side. For all his admiration of her self-conquest, and of the tasks to
which she had devoted herself, he would have liked to free her from the
daily mill. She was young yet, and should taste of joy before the years
began to darken about her. But these are the thoughts that must not be
uttered. To show pity is to insult. A merry nod to the friend who
staggers on beneath his burden; and, even at his last gasp, the friend
shall try to nod merrily back again.

He took leave of her at the station, saying that he meant to walk by
the river homeward. A foolish scruple, which would never have occurred
to him but for Alma's jealousy.

When he reached his house at about four o'clock, he felt very tired; it
was a long time since he had walked so far. Using his latch-key to
enter, he crossed the hall to the study without seeing anyone or
hearing a sound. There was a letter on his table. As he opened it, and
began to read, the door--which he had left ajar--was pushed softly
open; there entered Hughie, unusually silent, and with a strange look
in his bright eyes.

'Father--Louie says that baby is dead.'

Harvey's hand fell. He stared, stricken mute.

'Father--I don't want baby to be dead! Don't let baby be dead!'

The child's voice shook, and tears came into his eyes. Without a word,
Rolfe hastened from the room and up the stairs. As he reached the
landing, a wail of grief sounded from somewhere near; could that be
Alma's voice? In a moment he had knocked at her door