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HE next day Teresa did not go to the chalet, but worked hard at her clay modelling. The desire for work was strong in her, pleasure in it had waked again, and besides she had a keen desire to make some money, to relieve Basil at least of part of his material burden. Her things had always sold, and she resolved now that she would if possible pay her own expenses and Ronald's. She blamed herself for not having done more the past two years. Her own small income had gone largely in dress for herself and the child; but now, with a little help, it would pay for this Swiss summer. Poor Basil, working in the heat of the summer city! But he had many friends—too many perhaps—who would take him out of it. Yet she knew that he was never as comfortable away from home. She had not been a model housewife, but Basil had liked his home. And he missed Ronald. His letters were full of inquiries and suggestions about the child—melancholy letters, sometimes short and brusque, sometimes long and argumentative. The first few had been love-letters, but as she did not respond in kind, Basil had become less expressive. Twice Teresa had written warmly, begging him to come as soon as possible—but she