ll not count in his life at
all. Althea will count; she will count more and more. She will be his
habit, his _haus-frau_, the mother of his children. He is not in love
with her; but he will come to love her, and there will be no place for
friendship in his life. Hearing that clamour she dragged herself
together, hating herself for having heard it, and answered: 'Althea, of
course; she is worth three of Frances.'

Gerald gave a little sigh. 'Well, I'm glad we agree there,' he said.
'I'm glad you see that Althea is worth three of her. What I do wish is
that you cared more about Althea.'

What he was telling her was that if she would care more about Althea, he
would too, and she wondered if this, also, were a part of pride; should
she help him to care more for Althea? A better pride sustained her; she
felt the danger in these subtleties of her torment. 'I like Althea,' she
said. 'I, too, think that she is wise and good and gentle. I think that
she will be the best of wives, the best of wives and mothers. But, as I
said, I don't feel enthusiasm; I don't feel it a case for enthusiasm.'

'Of course it's not a case for enthusiasm,' said Gerald, who was
evidently eager to range himself completely with her. 'I'm fond, and
I'll grow fonder; and I believe you will too. Don't you, Helen?'

'No doubt I shall,' said Helen. She got up now and tossed her cigarette
into the waste-paper basket, and stood for a moment looking past
Gerald's head at the snowy island, now half dissolved in blue, as though
its rivers had engulfed it. They were parting, he and she, she knew it,
and yet there was no word that she could say to him, no warning or
appeal that she could utter. If he could see that it was the end he
would, she knew, start back from his shallow project. But he did not
know that it was the end and he might never know. Did he not really
understand that an adoring wife could not be fitted into their
friendship? His innocent unconsciousness of inevitable change made
Helen's heart, in its deeper knowledge of human character, sink to a
bitterness that felt like a hatred of him, and she wondered, looking
forward, whether Gerald would ever miss anything, or ever know that
anything was gone.

Gerald sat still looking up at her as though expecting some further
suggestion, and as her eyes came back to him, she smiled to him with
deliberate sweetness, showing him thus that her conclusions were all
friendly. And he rose, smiling back, reassu