ney--all I need to marry on, and we'll have a
home and children and they will hold me--keep me up."

In Volume XXI of the "Psychological Society's Publications," page 374,
will be found a part of the observations of "Mr. Left," together with
copious notes upon the Adams case by an eminent authority. The excerpt
herewith printed is attributed by Mr. Left to Darwin or Huxley or
perhaps one of the Brownings--it is unimportant to note just which one,
for Mr. Left gleaned from a wide circle of intellects. The interesting
thing is that about the time these love affairs we are considering were
brewing, Mr. Left wrote: "If the natural selection of love is the
triumph of evolution on this planet, if the free choice of youth and
maiden, unhampered by class or nationality, or wealth, or age, or
parental interference, or thought of material advantage, is the greatest
step taken by life since it came mysteriously into this earth, how much
of the importance of the natural selection of youth in love hangs upon
full and free access to all the data necessary for choice."

What irony was in the free choice of these lovers here in Harvey that
day when Mr. Left wrote this. What did Henry Fenn know of the heart or
the soul of the woman he adored? What did Laura Nesbit know of her lover
and what did he know of her? They all four walked blindfolded. Free
choice for them was as remote and impossible as it would have been if
they had been auctioned into bondage.

CHAPTER X

IN WHICH MARY ADAMS TAKES A MUCH NEEDED REST

The changing seasons moved from autumn to winter, from winter to spring.
One gray, wet March day, Grant Adams stood by the counter asking Mr.
Brotherton to send to the city for roses.

"White roses, a dozen white roses." Mr. Brotherton turned his broad back
as he wrote the order, and said gently: "They'll be down on No. 11
to-night, Grant; I'll send 'em right out."

As Grant stood hesitating, ready to go, but dreading the street, Dr.
Nesbit came in. He pressed the youth's hand and did not speak. He bought
his tobacco and stood cleaning his pipe. "Could your father sleep any
after--when I left, Grant?" asked the Doctor.

The young man shook his head. "Mrs. Nesbit is out there, isn't she?" the
Doctor asked again.

"Yes," replied the youth, "she and Laura came out before we had
breakfast. And Mrs. Dexter is there."

"Has any one else come?" asked the Doctor, looking up sharply from his
pipe, and added, "I sent wo