The girl shrank, and sat silent, as if a doom had been pronounced upon her.
"That is what marriage must mean to you and to me," Isabel said, and her face had an exultant light in it. "I love my profession—I am ambitious in it, but I could bear to give it all up a hundred times over, rather than my hope of being a mother."
The girl was awed almost into whispering.
"Does it mean that—will it take away your power as a physician?"
"No, that's the best of it these days. If a woman has brains and a good man for a husband, it broadens her powers. I feel that Dr. Sanborn and I will be better physicians by being father and mother. O, those are great words, Rose! Let me tell you they are broader than poet or painter, deeper than wife or husband. I've wanted to say these things to you, Rose. You've escaped reckless marriage someway, now let me warn you against an ambitious marriage—"
She broke off suddenly. "No, I'll stop. You've taken care of yourself so far; it would be strange if you couldn't now." She turned quickly and went to Rose. "I love you," she said. "We are spiritual sisters, I felt that the day you crushed me. I like women who do not cry. I want you to forgive me for lecturing you, and I want you to go on following the lead of your mysterious guide; I don't know what it is or, rather, who he is—"
She stopped suddenly, and seating herself on the arm of Rose's chair, smiled.
"I believe it is a man, somewhere. Come now, confess—who is he?"
Quick as light the form and face of William De Lisle came into Rose's thought, and she said:
"He's a circus rider."