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 CHAPTER

XIV

Semictrcies of weariness hollowed Robert Osterhout’s eyes as he opened the door and entered Mona’s room. It had been a hard night for him. Memory had been delicately dissecting his nerves. Striving in vain to lose himself in his experiments he had turned, early in the morning, to his communion with the dead woman. The letter, that pitiful solace for the unremitting pain of loss and loneliness, was in his hand now as he closed the door

behind him. «. ..

As for Pat,” he had written, “she is one of those

born to trouble the hearts of men and to take fire from their trouble. Of the tribe of Helen! If I could see her safely married Safely! As if there were any safety in marriage! Not under our present system. Look at Connie. Though, for that matter, my misgivings about her and Cary Scott seem to have been misplaced. That flame has flickered out. She will perhaps settle down from sheer inertia. But hers is hardly what one would call a safe or successful marriage. Dee’s may be better. Not that she is specially in love with James. But her training at sports will stand her in good stead. She will go through with it. Dee is first and last a good sport. Nevertheless, I sometimes wish she had waited for the really right man, if there be any such for her. “Mona, there are times when I could believe in triai ' marriage, with suitable safeguards, of course, against

children. If I were a philosopher instead of a medical man I should certainly favour the system. But my technical training prejudices my judgment. Of course, we do 150