"It might have been so, mightn't it?"

She remembered her dreams in the walled-in garden almost guiltily.

"No," she said steadily--and as she spoke she felt as if she were firmly
putting those dreams behind her forever. "Motherhood changes a woman
more than men can ever know."

"I--I know it's all right. Then you won't hate me for taking you both
back to Little Market Street in a few days?"

He saw the color deepen in her face. For an instant she went on working.
Then she put the work down, sat back in the low chair, and looked up at
him.

"No, of course we must go back. And I was very happy in Little Market
Street."

And then quickly, before he could say anything, she began to recall
the pleasant details of their life in Westminster, dwelling upon every
household joy, and everything that though "Londony" had been delightful.
Having conquered, with an effort which had cost her more than even Dion
knew, a terrible reluctance she gave herself to her own generous impulse
with enthusiasm. Rosamund could not do things by halves. She might
obstinately refrain from treading a path, but if once she had set her
feet on it she hurried eagerly along it. Something to-night had made her
decide on treading the path of unselfishness, of generosity. When Dion
lit his pipe she had not known she was going to tread it. It seemed to
her almost as if she had found herself upon the path without knowing how
she had got there. Now without hesitation she went forward.

"It was delightful in Westminster," she concluded, "and it will be
delightful there again."

"And all your friends here? And Mr. Thrush?"

"I don't know what Mr. Thrush will do," she said, with a change to deep
gravity.

The two lines showed in her pure forehead.

"I'm so afraid that without me he will fall back. But perhaps I can run
down now and then just for the day to keep him up to his promise, poor
dear old man."

"And your friends?"

"Oh, well--of course I shall miss them. But I suppose there is always
something to miss. There must be a crumpled rose leaf. I am far more
fortunate than almost any woman I know."

Dion put down his pipe.

"I simply can't do it," he said.

"What?"

"Take you away from here. It seems your right place. You love it; Robin
loves it. What's to be done? Shall I run up and down?"

"You can't. It's too far."

"I have to read the papers somewhere. Why not in the train?"

"Three hours or more! It's impossible. If only Welsley