ish you could be a little kind; a little understanding."

"Wish I could think as you think; that's what you mean. Well, by God,
I'm a man and your husband and I'm going to stand on my rights. You
can't make a silly ass of me as you did of my father. Fathers and
husbands are a shade different. Come, now, out with your plan."

"I will not have any more children! I'll do everything I can, Larry;
make the home a real home. Noreen and I will love you. We'll try to
find some things we all want to do together; you and I can sort of
plan for Noreen and there are all kinds of things to do around the
Forest, Larry. Really, you and I ought to--ought to carry out your
father's work. We could! There are other things in marriage, Larry,
but just--the one." Breathlessly Mary-Clare came to a pause, but
Larry's amused look drove her on. "I'm not the kind of a woman, Larry,
that can live a lie!"

A tone of horror shook Mary-Clare's voice; she choked and Larry came
closer, his lips were smiling.

"What in thunder!" he muttered. Then: "You plan to have us live on
here in this house; you and I, a man and woman--and----!" Larry
stopped short, then laughed. "A hell of a home that would be, all
right!"

Mary-Clare gazed dully at him.

"Well, then," she whispered, and her lips grew deadly white, "I do not
know what to do."

"Do? You'll forget it!" thundered Larry. "And pretty damned quick,
too!"

But Mary-Clare did not answer. There was nothing more to say. She was
thinking of the birth-night and death-night of her last child.

On and on the burning thoughts rushed in Mary-Clare's brain while she
sat near Larry without seeing him. As surely as if death had taken
him, he, the husband, the father of Noreen, had gone from her life. It
did not seem now as if anything she had said, or done, had had
anything to do with it. It was like an accident that had overtaken
them, killing Larry and leaving her to readjust her life alone.

"Why don't you answer?" Larry laid a hand upon Mary-Clare's shoulder.
"Getting sleepy? Come on, then, we'll have this out to-morrow." He
looked toward the door behind which stood Noreen's cot and that other
one beside it.

"I've fixed the room upstairs for you, Larry."

The simple statement had power to accomplish all that was left to be
done. There was a finality about it, and the look on Mary-Clare's
face, that convinced Larry he had come to the point of conquest or
defeat.

"The devil you have!" was what