"Has he said he wanted me, Dr. Gleason?"
"Why—er—y-yes; well, that is, he— I know he has wanted to know where you were."
"Very likely; but that isn't wanting me. Dr. Gleason, don't you think I have any pride, any self-respect, even? My husband was ashamed of me. He asked me to go away for a time. He wrote me with his own hand that he wanted a vacation from me. Do you think now, without a sign or a word from him, that I am going creeping back to him and ask him to take me back?"
"But he doesn't know where you are, to give you a sign," argued the doctor.
"You've seen him, haven't you?"
"Why, y-yes—but not lately. But—I'm going to."
A startled look came into her eyes. The next minute she smiled sadly.
"Are you? Very well; we'll see—if he says anything. You won't tell him where I am, I know. I have your promise. But, Dr. Gleason,"—her voice grew very sweet and serious,—"I shall not be satisfied now with anything short of a happy married life. I know now what marriage is, where there is love, and trust in each other, and where they like to do and talk about the same things. I've seen your sister and her husband. Unless I can know that I'm going to bring that kind of happiness to Burke, I shall not consent to go back to him. I will give him his daughter. Some time, when she is old enough, I want him to see her. When I know that he is proud of my Betty, I may not—mind the rest so much, perhaps. But now—now—" With a choking little cry she turned and fled down the steps and out on to the garden path.
Baffled, irritated, yet frowningly admiring, the doctor stalked into the house.
In the hall he came face to face with his sister. She fluttered into instant anxiety.