r thinks she was weak in giving up Mrs.
Maynard's case to me; but Miss Gleason told me about their discussion,
and she thinks it is the great heroic act of Dr. Breen's life."

"It showed some sense, at least," Mrs. Mulbridge replied. She had
tacitly offered to release her son from telling her anything when she
had made her motion to rise; if he chose to go on now, it was his own
affair. She handed him the plate of biscuit, and he took one.

"It showed inspiration, Miss Gleason says. The tears came into her eyes;
I understood her to say it was godlike. 'And only to think, doctor,'" he
continued, with a clumsy, but unmistakable suggestion of Miss Gleason's
perfervid manner, "'that such a girl should be dragged down by her own
mother to the level of petty, every-day cares and duties, and should
be blamed for the most beautiful act of self-sacrifice! Is n't it too
bad?'"

"Rufus, Rufus!" cried his mother, "I can't stun' it! Stop!"

"Oh, Dr. Breen is n't so bad--not half so divine as Miss Gleason thinks
her. And Mrs. Maynard does n't consider her surrendering the case an act
of self-sacrifice at all."

"I should hope not!" said Mrs. Mulbridge. "I guess she would n't have
been alive to tell the tale, if it had n't been for you."

"Oh, you can't be sure of that. You must n't believe too much in
doctors, mother. Mrs. Maynard is pretty tough. And she's had wonderfully
good nursing. You've only heard the Barlow side of the matter," said
her sun, betraying now for the first time that he had been aware of any
knowledge of it on her part. That was their way: though they seldom told
each other anything, and went on as if they knew nothing of each other's
affairs, yet when they recognized this knowledge it was without surprise
on either side. "I could tell you a different story. She's a very
fine girl, mother; cool and careful under instruction, and perfectly
tractable and intelligent. She's as different from those other women
you've seen as you are. You would like her!" He had suddenly grown
earnest, and crushing the crust of a biscuit in the strong left hand
which he rested on the table, he gazed keenly at her undemonstrative
face. "She's no baby, either. She's got a will and a temper of her own.
She's the only one of them I ever saw that was worth her salt."

"I thought you did n't like self-willed women," said his mother
impassively.

"She knows when to give up," he answered, with unrelaxed scrutiny.

His mother did not