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 correctly dressed with exactly the proper dark tie, overseeing the straightening of the house.

She had hardly seen him all winter. He looked thin, but his hair was as sleek as ever. And if he paled somewhat when he saw her he did not lose his composure.

"I've ordered tea," he said. "It will be in at once."

She went into the drawing room, and rather to her surprise he followed her.

"I need not tell you how grieved I am, Kay."

"No. I know, Herbert. The only thing"

"Yes?"

"I think I shortened her life."

"Not at all. I've been over that with the doctors. I was afraid you would think so. They say it was a purely physical condition, and—I think I ought to tell you this, Kay. I always knew that in her heart she felt you had done the right thing. At the beginning, after you had gone, I used to see her. She never actually said so, but"

"And then she found it wasn't the right thing after all!"

He looked at her gravely.

"Was it as wrong as all that, Kay?"

"I was all wrong, I think. You are being very kind to me, Herbert. I thought you would hate me."

"Never. If I really loved you, I had to put your happiness first."

"Happiness!" she said. "What is happiness anyhow, Herbert? To want something and get it? But then the moment one got it one would have to go on wanting something else! There isn't such a thing, then, is there?"

"Not all the time," he said steadily. "You can't live on a mountaintop always. But there is contentment, and now and then the bigger thing comes."

Bessie joined them for tea, but Mr. Dowling remained in his library. Kay, looking across, could see him working at his desk, and knew that he was himself addressing the handsomely engraved cards which thanked their friends for their flowers and letters of sympathy. But there was no message of condolence which received no acknowledgment.