"D'you know, mater, I believe it's the right thing to be what's called a
thorough-paced egoist at certain moments, in certain situations."

"Perhaps it is," said his mother incuriously.

"I fancy there's a good deal of rot talked about egoism and that sort of
thing."

"There's a good deal of rot talked about most things."

"Yes, isn't there? And besides, how is one to know? Very often what
seems like egoism may not be egoism at all. As I grow older I often feel
how important it is to search out the real reasons for things."

"Sometimes they're difficult to find," returned his mother, with an
unusual simplicity of manner.

"Yes, but still----Well, I must be off."

He stood up and looked at the Indian rug in front of the hearth.

"When are you coming to see us?" he asked.

"Almost directly, dee-ar."

"That's right. Rosamund likes seeing you. Naturally she depends upon you
at such----" He broke off. "I mean, do come as often as you can."

He bent down and kissed his mother.

"By the way," he added, almost awkwardly, "about that dog?"

"What dog, dee-ar?"

"The dog I want to give you."

"We must think about it. Give me time. After a black pug one doesn't
know all in a moment what type would be the proper successor. You
remember your poor Aunt Binn?"

"Aunt Binn! Why, what did she do?"

"Gave Uncle Binn a hairless thing like a note of interrogation, that had
to sleep in a coating of vaseline, when his enormous sheep-dog died who
couldn't see for hair. She believed in the value of contrast, but
Uncle Binn didn't. It would have led to a separation but for the hectic
efforts of your aunt's friend, Miss Vine. When I've decided what type of
dog, I'll tell you."

Dion understood the negative and, in spite of his feeling of fitness,
went away rather uncomfortably. He couldn't forget the strange
appearance of that emptied woman whom he had taken unawares by the
fireside. If only his mother would let him give her another dog!

When he got home he found Beatrice sitting with Rosamund.

Dion had grown very fond of Beatrice. He had always been rather touched
and attracted by her plaintive charm, but since she had become his
sister-in-law he had learnt to appreciate also her rare sincerity and
delicacy of mind. She could not grip life, perhaps, could not mold it to
her purpose and desire, but she could do a very sweet and very feminine
thing, she could live, without ever being intrusive, in the life of
anothe