ut Cecily looked older than she ought to have
done, and occasionally bore herself with a little too much
consciousness, as if she felt the observation even of intimate friends
something of a restraint.

Miriam, when she had made inquiries about her brother's health, took
little part in the general conversation, and it was not till late in
the evening that she spoke with Cecily in private.

"May I come and sit with you for a few minutes?" Cecily asked, when
Miriam was going to her bedroom.

They were far less at ease with each other than when their differences
of opinion were a recognized obstacle to intimacy. Cecily was uncertain
how far her sister-in-law had progressed from the old standpoint, and
she saw in her even an increase of the wonted reticence. On her own
side there was no longer a warm impulse of sisterly affection. But her
first words, when they were alone together, sounded like an appeal for
tender confidence.

"I do so wish you had seen my poor little boy!"

"I wish I had been nearer," Miriam answered kindly. "It is very sad
that you have suffered such a loss."

Cecily spoke of the child, and with simple feeling, which made her more
like herself than hitherto.

"When a little thing dies at that age," she said presently, "it is only
the mother's grief. The father cannot have much interest in so young a
child."

"But Reuben wrote very affectionately of Clarence in one letter I had
from him."

"Yes, but it is natural that he shouldn't feel the loss as I do. A man
has his business in life; a woman, if she needn't work for bread, has
nothing to do but be glad or sorry for what happens in her home."

"I shouldn't have thought you took that view of a woman's life," said
Miriam, after a silence, regarding the other with uncertain eyes.

"'Views' have become rather a weariness to me," answered Cecily,
smiling sadly. "Sorrow is sorrow to me as much as to the woman who
never questioned one of society's beliefs; it makes me despondent. No
doubt I ought to find all sorts of superior consolations. But I don't
and can't. A woman's natural lot is to care for her husband and bring
up children. Do you believe, Miriam, that anything will ever take the
place of these occupations?"

"I suppose not. But time will help you, and your interests will come
back again."

"True. On the other hand, it is equally true that I am now seeing how
little those interests really amount to. They are pastime, if you like,
but n