She cringed. "But that couldn't be! It couldn't be. Don't you understand?"
"Poor Mary!" said Doctor Lavendar. "Poor girl!"
"Doctor Lavendar, make him come to us. You can do it. You can do anything!"
"Mary, neither you nor I nor anybody else can 'make' a harvest anything but the seed which has been sowed. My child, you sowed vanity and selfishness." . . . By and by he put his hand on hers and said: "Mary, wait. Wait till you love him more and yourself less."
It was dark when she went away.
When Doctor King came in in the evening he said to himself that Mary Robertson and the whole caboodle of 'em weren't worth the weariness in the wise old face.
"William," said Doctor Lavendar, "I hope there won't be any conundrums in heaven; I don't seem able to answer them any more." Then the whimsical fatigue vanished and he smiled. "Lately I've just said, 'Wait: God knows.' And stopped guessing."
But he didn't stop thinking.