such; but when
he had gone into his office leaving his breakfast almost untouched, Mrs.
Sykes shook her head gloomily.

"You needn't tell me!" she murmured, oblivious of the fact that no one
was telling her anything. "You needn't tell me!" Then, with rare
self-reproach, "Perhaps I hadn't ought to have said so much, but such
blindness is enough to provoke a saint. If he'd any eyes--couldn't he
see Esther?" Mrs. Sykes sighed as she emptied the doctor's untasted cup.

More frankly disconsolate, though not so outspoken, were Ann and Bubble.
Not only did they dislike the bride elect but they objected to marriage
in general. "A honeymoon will put the kibosh on this here practice,
sure," moaned Bubble.

"Look at me. I'm not thinking of getting married, am I? No, and I'm
never going to get married either."

"I am," said Ann, "and I'm going to have ten sons and the first one is
going to be called 'Henry' after the doctor."

"Huh!" said Bubble, "bet you it isn't. Bet you go and call it after its
father. They all do."

"No chance! Bet you I won't. I wouldn't call it 'Zerubbabel' for
anything."

For an instant they glared at each other, and then as the awful
implication dawned upon Bubble his round face grew crimson and his voice
thrilled with just resentment.

"Well, if you think you're going to marry me, Miss Ann, you're jolly
well mistaken."

"Will if I like," said Ann, retiring into her sun-bonnet.

Upon the whole, however, their affection for the doctor kept them
friendly. Both children felt that something was wrong somewhere. Their
idol was not happy. Bubble whispered to Ann of long hours when the
doctor sat in his office with an open book before him, a book the pages
of which were never turned. Ann told of weary walks when she trotted
along by his side, wholly forgotten. Only between themselves did they
ever speak of the change in him, and Henry Callandar was well repaid
for the careless kindness of his brighter hours by a faithful
guardianship, a quick-eyed consideration and a stout line of defence
which protected his privacy and ignored his moods without his ever being
aware of such a service.

Esther he seldom saw. She was remarkably clever, he thought, with a
tinge of bitterness, in arranging duties and pleasures which would take
her out of his way. It was better so, of course. It was the worst of
injustice to feel hurt with her for doing what of all things he would
have had her do. But one doesn't reason