"I do so wish you had seen my poor little boy!"
"I wish I had been nearer," Miriam answered kindly. "It is very sad that you have suffered such a loss."
Cecily spoke of the child, and with simple feeling, which made her more like herself than hitherto.
"When a little thing dies at that age," she said presently, "it is only the mother's grief. The father cannot have much interest in so young a child."
"But Reuben wrote very affectionately of Clarence in one letter I had from him."
"Yes, but it is natural that he shouldn't feel the loss as I do. A man has his business in life; a woman, if she needn't work for bread, has nothing to do but be glad or sorry for what happens in her home."
"I shouldn't have thought you took that view of a woman's life," said Miriam, after a silence, regarding the other with uncertain eyes.
"'Views' have become rather a weariness to me," answered Cecily, smiling sadly. "Sorrow is sorrow to me as much as to the woman who never questioned one of society's beliefs; it makes me despondent. No doubt I ought to find all sorts of superior consolations. But I don't and can't. A woman's natural lot is to care for her husband and bring up children. Do you believe, Miriam, that anything will ever take the place of these occupations?"
"I suppose not. But time will help you, and your interests will come back again."
"True. On the other hand, it is equally true that I am now seeing how little those interests really amount to. They are pastime, if you like, but nothing more. Some women do serious work, however; I wish I could be one of them. To them, perhaps, 'views' are something real and helpful. But never mind myself; you were glad to hear that Reuben is working on?"