together in his study, as they had
sat on many other holidays. He insisted on going alone to the hospital,
although she was to be in the building during the operation.

Mathilde had been told, and inexperienced in disaster, she had felt
convinced that the outcome couldn't be fatal, yet despite her conviction
that people did not really die, she was aware of a shyness and
awkwardness in the tragic situation.

Mr. Lanley had been told, and his attitude was just the opposite. To
him it seemed absolutely certain that Farron would die,--every one
did,--but he had for some time been aware of a growing hardness on his
part toward the death of other people, as if he were thus preparing
himself for his own.

"Poor Vincent!" he said to himself. "Hard luck at his age, when an old
man like me is left." But this was not quite honest. In his heart he
felt there was nothing unnatural in Vincent's being taken or in his
being left.

As usual in a crisis, Adelaide's behavior was perfect. She contrived to
make her husband feel every instant the depth, the strength, the passion
of her love for him without allowing it to add to the weight he was
already carrying. Alone together, he and she had flashes of real gaiety,
sometimes not very far from tears.

To Mathilde the brisk naturalness of her mother's manner was a source of
comfort. All the day the girl suffered from a sense of strangeness and
isolation, and a fear of doing or saying something unsuitable--something
either too special or too every-day. She longed to evince sympathy for
Mr. Farron, but was afraid that, if she did, it would be like intimating
that he was as good as dead. She was caught between the negative danger
of seeming indifferent and the positive one of being tactless.

As soon as Vincent had left the house, Adelaide's thought turned to her
daughter. He had gone about six o'clock. He and she had been sitting by
his study fire when Pringle announced that the motor was waiting. Vincent
got up quietly, and so did she. They stood with their arms about each
other, as if they meant never to forget the sense of that contact; and
then without any protest they went down-stairs together.

In the hall he had shaken hands with Mr. Lanley and had kissed Mathilde,
who, do what she would, couldn't help choking a little. All this time
Adelaide stood on the stairs, very erect, with one hand on the stair-rail
and one on the wall, not only her eyes, but her whole face, radiating an