Later on Lydia herself lost her father and after his death
her own wail was: 'I never lived with my father. He was always
away in the morning before I was up. I was away, or busy, in
the evening when he was there. On Sundays he never went to
church as mother and I did--I suppose now because he had some
other religion of his own. But if he had I never knew what it
was--or anything else that was in his mind or heart. It never
occurred to me that I could. He tried to love me--I remember
so many times now--and _that_ makes me cry!--how he tried
to love me! He was so glad to see me when I got home from
Europe--but he never knew anything that happened to me. I
told you once before that when I had pneumonia and nearly died
mother kept it from him because he was on a big case. It was
all like that--always. He never knew.'

Dr. Melton broke in, his voice uncertain, his face horrified:
'Lydia, I cannot let you go on! you are unfair--you shock me.
You are morbid! I knew your father intimately. He loved you
beyond expression. He would have done anything for you. But
his profession is an exacting one. Put yourself in his place a
little. It is all or nothing in the law--as in business.'

But Lydia replied: 'When you bring children Into the world,
you expect to have them cost you some money, don't you? You
know you mustn't let them die of starvation. Why oughtn't you
to expect to have them cost you thought, and some sharing of
your life with them, and some time--real time, not just scraps
that you can't use for business?'