"That's right, that's right," said the doctor over a lump in his
throat. "We mustn't let the babies pay the penalty of their parents'
sins; and there's one thing that may soften your anger a little,
Letty: Eva's not right; she's not quite responsible. There are cases
where motherhood, that should be a joy, brings nothing but mental
torture and perversion of instinct. Try and remember that, if it helps
you any. I'll drop in every two or three hours and I'll write David
to come at once. He must take his share of the burden."

Well, David came, but Eva was in her coffin. He was grave and silent,
and it could not be said that he showed a trace of fatherly pride. He
was very young, it is true, thoroughly ashamed of himself, very
unhappy, and anxious about his new cares; but Letty could not help
thinking that he regarded the twins as a sort of personal
insult,--perhaps not on their own part, nor on Eva's, but as an
accident that might have been prevented by a competent Providence. At
any rate, he carried himself as a man with a grievance, and when he
looked at his offspring, which was seldom, it seemed to Letty that he
regarded the second one as an unnecessary intruder and cherished a
secret resentment at its audacity in coming to this planet uninvited.
He went back to his work in Boston without its having crossed his mind
that anybody but his sister could take care of his children. He didn't
really regard them as children or human beings; it takes a woman's
vision to make that sort of leap into the future. Until a new-born
baby can show some personal beauty, evince some intellect, stop
squirming and squealing, and exhibit enough self-control to let people
sleep at night, it is not, as a rule, _persona grata_ to any one but
its mother.

David did say vaguely to Letty when he was leaving, that he hoped