a common school but a
'simple' school, tuition four hundred dollars a year. And you hire a
dancing teacher besides--I mean a rhythm teacher--and let 'em shake it out
of their feet. And after that you buy 'em clothes--not fluffy clothes, but
'simple' clothes, the kind which always cost the most. And then you build a
simple home, in a simple place like Morristown. The whole idea is
simplicity. If you can't make enough to buy it, you're lost. If you can
make enough, just barely enough, you get so excited you lose your head--and
do what I did Monday."

The two men smiled at each other. Roger was very fond of Bruce.

"What did you do Monday?" he asked.

"I bought that car I told you about."

"Splendid! Best thing in the world for you! Tell me all about it!"

And while Bruce rapidly grew engrossed in telling of the car's fine points,
Roger pictured his son-in-law upon hot summer evenings (for Bruce spent his
summers in town) forgetting his business for a time and speeding out into
the country. Then he thought of Edith and the tyranny of her motherhood,
always draining her husband's purse and keeping Edith so wrapt up in her
children and their daily needs that she had lost all interest in anything
outside her home. What was there wrong about it? He knew that Edith prided
herself on being like her mother. But Judith had always found time for her
friends. He himself had been more as Edith was now. How quickly after
Judith died he had dropped all friends, all interests. "That's it," he
ruefully told himself, "Edith takes after her father." And the same curious
feeling which he had had with Laura, came back to him with her sister. This
daughter, too, was a part of himself. His deep instinctive craving to keep
to himself and his family was living on in Edith, was already dominating
her home. What a queer mysterious business it was, this tie between a man
and his child.

He was thinking of this when Baird arrived. Allan Baird was not only the
doctor who had brought Edith's children into the world, he was besides an
intimate friend, he had been Bruce's room-mate at college. As he came
strolling into the room with his easy greeting of "Well, folks--" his low
gruff voice, his muscular frame, over six feet two, and the kindly calm
assurance in his lean strong visage, gave to Bruce and Roger the feeling of
safety they needed. For this kind of work was his life. He had specialized
on women, and after over fifteen years of toilsome u