wanted people to envy him, not pity him, he thought
in mortified chagrin.

After an eternity, the hour of departure arrived. As the door shut out
the last of the smiling, lying guests, the host and hostess turned to
face each other.

Paul spoke first, in an even, restrained tone: "You would better go to
bed, Lydia; you must be very tired."

With this, he turned away to shut up the house. He had determined to
preserve at all costs the appearance of the indulgent, non-critical,
over-patient husband that he intensely felt himself to be. No force, he
thought grimly, shutting his jaws hard, should drag from him a word of
his real sentiments. Fanned by the wind of this virtuous resolution, his
sentiments grew hotter and hotter as he walked about, locking doors and
windows, and reviewing bitterly the events of the evening. If he was to
restrain himself from saying anything, he would at least allow himself
the privilege of feeling all that was possible to a man so deeply
injured.

Lydia sat quietly waiting for him to finish, her face in her hands,
conscious of nothing but fatigue, in her ears a wild echo of the
inexplicable, haunting Beethoven chords.

Suddenly she started and raised her head, her face transfigured. Her
eyes shone, a smile was on her lips like that of someone who hears from
afar the sound of a beloved voice. She made a gesture of yearning toward
her husband. "Oh, Paul--Paul!" she cried to him softly, in a tremulous
voice of wonder.

He turned, the light for the first time on his black, loveless face.
"What is it?" he enunciated distinctly, looking at her hard.

Before his eyes Lydia shrank back. She put up her hands instinctively to
hide her face from him. Finally, "Nothing--nothing--" she murmured.

Without comment, Paul went back to his conscientious round of the house.

Lydia had felt for the first time the quickening to life of her child.
And during all that day, until then, she had forgotten that she was to
know motherhood.

CHAPTER XXI

AN ELEMENT OF SOLIDITY

Lydia dated the estrangement from Marietta, which grew so rapidly during
the next year, from the conversation on the day after the dinner party.
She was cruelly wounded by her sister's attack on her, but she could
never remember the scene without one of her involuntary laughs so
disconcerting to Paul, who only laughed when he felt gay, certainly at
nothing which affected him seriously. But Lydia's sense of humor was so
tickle