“Do you think I am?”
“When you say ‘mere physical attraction’ you are. A woman who has been a lover herself for ten years! It’s mawkish and insincere.”
“But you and I are intellectually congenial, Harry!”
“We weren’t when we married. We’ve developed along the same lines since, that’s all. But it was passion that melted us up and made our mental and spiritual amalgamation a reality. We only thought we were congenial, those early days, because we wanted each other so desperately.”
“Even if you’re right,” Cynthia said quickly, “it mightn’t turn out with Lewis and Petra as it has with us. I don’t see how it could. She’s so shallow.”
“Of course nobody knows how it will turn out ever. But if they’re drawn to each other by mere—mere—what was it you said they were drawn by? I don’t remember—but what you meant was mere cosmic forces—I guess you’ll have to let that attraction take its course, and remain a mere sister who hasn’t a thing to say. Sorry, darling. But you annoy me, rather.” He kissed her, all the same, as if that was what he had come back for.
Cynthia had guessed right. Lewis was really headed for Green Doors, intending only to dine with the Allens en route. He told Cynthia and Harry about his summons to New York and gave them a dramatic account of the latest methods in the treatment of infantile paralysis, but he was careful to wait until the children were safely out of earshot. Little Michael Duffield was going to get well and the probability was that he would suffer no permanent disability from his terrible experience. The other Duffield children had been packed off to the shore in charge of tutors and with a trained nurse to watch for symptoms. They had gone off in two large cars and were living in an isolated cottage to meet all the requirements of quarantine. But Mrs. Duffield herself was staying with her adopted boy and would not join the others until he was well enough to be taken with her, unless one of her own children developed the disease.
“There is almost no limit to what modern science can do, with wealth to back it up,” Cynthia commented.
But Lewis met this with silence. He had just been through a twenty-four-hour agonizing suspense, when all that science had to give, and all that wealth could buy, and even all that love could plead, had waited on—a Mystery. And the Mystery, over and over, during those dread hours, had been named by Mrs. Duffield, “God’s Will.” Lewis’ face was strained and his eyes still heavy from watching.
The Allens were a little embarrassed by the way Lewis had taken the business; but they were touched as well. They knew how peculiarly devoted to this little Michael he was. Cynthia was glad, indeed, that she herself had not known that the boy was so ill all these past days, and Lewis with him. That would have worried her for her brother’s sake infinitely more than this Petra business was worrying her. Petra fears, in fact, had dwindled, in the face of all that Lewis had just told them, into mere goblin phantoms.