She has a husband worthy of her worship. She who had not known that she wanted lover's verses, wants them from David Lockwin.
She who had never been jealous of Davy, grows jealous of politics. Yet, fearing her husband may guess her secret and despise her, she appears more Spartan.
She nursed the man sick of brain fever and buried little Davy. She brought her patient to his senses after nearly a month of alienation.
"Is Davy dead, Esther?" he had asked.
This was his first rational utterance.
"You are elected to Congress, David," she said. "Are you not glad?"
"Yes," he answered, and looked like death itself.
She dared not to throw herself upon his pillow and tell him how happy she was that he was restored. Her heart beat rebelliously that she did not declare to him the consuming passion of love which she felt.
Oh, let him resign his honors! Let him travel with her alone! Let her love him--love him as he loved Davy--as he must love her!
But the caution of love and experience had warned her to be still. Had not David waited until the child was dead before she saw the man as he really loved that child?