She quivered. But he went on quietly: "I know you're lonely, Helena,
and as I can't come and see you quite so often as I used to, I want
you to take this little fellow, simply to amuse you."

She walked beside him silently. When they reached the bench under the
poplar, she sat looking into the April distance without speaking. She
was saying to herself, miserably, that she didn't want the child; she
didn't want to lessen any sense of obligation that brought him to
her;--and yet, she did not want him to come from a sense of
obligation!

"You would get great fun out of him, Nelly," he insisted.

And looking up, she saw the kindness of his face and yielded. "Well,
perhaps I will; that is, if Dr. Lavendar will let me have him. I'm
afraid of Dr. Lavendar somehow."

"Good!" he said heartily; "that's a real weight off my mind." Her lip
curled again, but she said nothing. Lloyd Pryor yawned; then he asked
her whether she meant to buy the house.

"I don't know; sometimes I think there is less seclusion in the
country than there is in town." She drew down a twig, and began to
pull at the buds with aimless fingers. "I might like to come to
Philadelphia and live near you, you know," she said. The sudden malice
in her eyes was answered by the shock in his; his voice was disturbed
when he spoke, though his words were commonplace:

"It's a pleasant enough house."