e come for," Edith laughed gayly. "You've come to hear
about how lovely Amy was at the tea yesterday. You want to know all the
nice things people are saying about her."

His face puckered as it did when he was perplexed or annoyed. He laughed
with a little constraint as he said: "That would be pleasant hearing, I
admit. But it was something else I wanted to talk to you about just now,
Edith."

She raised her brows a little in inquiry, bending forward slightly,
waiting, her eyes touched with the anticipation of something serious. He
felt sure his tone had suggested Ruth to her; that indicated to him that
Ruth had been much in her mind.

"I had a long visit with Ruth last night," he began quietly.

She did not speak, bending forward a little more, her eyes upon him
intently, anxiously.

"Edith?"

"Yes, Deane?"

He paused, then asked simply: "Edith, Ruth is very lonely. Won't you go
to see her?"

She raised her chin in quick, startled way, some emotion, he did not
know just what, breaking over her face.

"I thought I'd come and tell you, Edith, how lonely--how utterly
lonely--Ruth is, because I felt if you understood you would want to go
and see her."

Still Edith did not speak. She looked as though she were going to cry.

"Ruth's had a hard time, Edith. It's been no light life for her--you
don't have to do more than look in her eyes to know that. I wish you
could have heard the way she asked about you--poured out questions about
you. She loves you just as she always did, Edith. She's sorrowed for you
all through these years."

A tear brimmed over from Edith's blue eyes and rolled
slowly--unheeded--down her cheek. His heart warmed to her and he took
hope as he watched that tear.

"She was crazy to know about your children. That's been a grief to her,
Edith. Ruth should be a mother--you know that. You must know what a
mother she would have made. If you were to take your youngsters to see
her--" He broke off with a laugh, as if there was no way of expressing
it.

Edith looked away from him, seemed to be staring straight into a rose
bush at the side of the porch.

"Couldn't you?" he gently pressed.

She turned to him. "I'd like to, Deane," she said simply, "but, "--her
dimmed eyes were troubled--"I don't see how I could."

"Why not?" he pursued. "It's simple enough--just go and see her. We
might go together, if that would seem easier."

She was pulling at a bit of sewing in her lap. "But, Deane, it _i