Babcock regarded her like a miserable tame bull. "I didn't mean to," he
blubbered. "She's taken away from me, and I'm so wretched that I don't
know what I'm saying. I'm sorry, Selma."

He held out his arms to her. She was ready to go to them, for the angel
of death had entered her home and pierced her heart, where it should be
most tender. She loved her baby. Yet, when she had time to think, she
was not sure that she wished to have another. When the bitterness of his
grief had passed away, that was the hope which Lewis ventured to
express, at first in a whisper, and later with reiterated boldness.
Selma acquiesced externally, but she had her own opinions. Certain
things which were not included in "Mother Lore," had been confided by
Mrs. Margaret Rodney Earle by word of mouth in the fulness of their
mutual soul-scourings, and had remained pigeon-holed for future
reference in Selma's inner consciousness. Another baby just at this time
meant interference with everything elevating. There was time enough. In
a year or two, when she had established herself more securely in the
social sphere of Benham, she would present her husband with a second
child. It was best for them both to wait, for her success was his
success; but it would be useless to try to make that clear to him in his
present mood.

So she put away her baby things, dropping tears over the little socks
and other reminders of her sorrow, and took up her life again, keeping
her own counsel. The sympathy offered her was an interesting experience.
Mrs. Earle came to her at once, and took her to her bosom; Mrs. Taylor
sent her flowers with a kind note, which set Selma thinking whether she
ought not to buy mourning note-paper; and within a week she received a
visit of condolence from Mr. Glynn, rather a ghastly visit. Ghastly,