in her, as the hours passed--a
thrilling suspense. Perhaps, after all, it wasn't going to be necessary
to grind through all those law-books in order to win the place beside
him that she wanted. If she could comfort him--mother him in his defeat
and discouragement--hold him fast when his world reeled around him, that
would be the basis of a better companionship than mere ability to chop
legal logic with him. She could he content with the shallow sparkle of
the stream of their life together, if it deepened, now and then, into
still pools like this.

She resisted the impulse to call him up on the telephone, and a stronger
one to go straight to him at his office. She'd wait until he came home
to her. She had been feeling wretched lately--headachy, nervous,
sickish;--probably, she thought, from staying in the house too much and
bending over her heavy law-books. Perhaps she had strained her eyes. But
to-day these discomforts were forgotten. Every little while she
straightened up and stood at an open window drawing in long breaths. He
should see her at her best to-night--serene--triumphant. The pallor of
her cheeks he had commented on lately, shouldn't be there to trouble
him.

For two hours that afternoon, she listened for his latch-key, and when
at last she heard it she stole down the stairs. He didn't shout her name
from the hall, as he often did. He didn't hear her coming, and she got a
look at his face as he stood at the table absently turning over some
mail that lay there. He looked tired, she thought.

He saw her when she reached the lower landing, but for just a fraction
of a second his gaze left her and went back to the letter he held in his
hand, as if to satisfy himself it was of no importance before he tossed
it away. Then he came to meet her.

"Oh!" he said. "I thought you were going to be off somewhere with
Frederica this afternoon. It's been a great day. I hope you haven't
spent the whole of it indoors. You're looking great, anyway. Come here
and give me a kiss."

Because she had hesitated, a little perplexed. Did he mean not to tell
her--to "spare" her, as he'd have said? The kiss she gave had a
different quality from those that ordinarily constituted her greetings,
and the arms that went round his neck, didn't give him their customary
hug. But they stayed there.

"You poor dear old boy!" she said. And then, "Don't you care, Roddy!"

He returned the caress with interest, before he seemed to realize the