whole being could be so alive to suffering. She must be alone, to get
a hand on herself and things again.

At table one night she wanted them all to know she was going away, for
several months perhaps, leaving her cousin Anne in charge. It was all
arranged.

The amazing innovation surprised Sam into speechlessness.

Judith had had few vacations. There had always been the babies, of
course. And Sam's consent had always been so hard to get. His first
impulse about everything was to refuse, contradict, begrudge. Then
certainly he mustn't be too easily convinced. After that he always
moped through her preparations; counted and recounted the cost, and at
the last perhaps gave her a handsome new bag when her old one was
particularly convenient, and he had supplied only half she had asked
for clothes; would hardly tell her good-by for desolate devotion;
tracked her with letters full of loneliness, ailments, discomforts.
When she had cut short her plans and hurried back, a bit quiet and
unresponsive perhaps, "How truly gracious your unselfishness is, my
dear!" he observed. "If it comes so hard to show me a little
consideration, you would really better keep doing your own way."

"I never do my own way."

"No? Whose then? I fail to recognize the brand."

"That's the trouble. I might as well stop trying."

Now, she could not delay for, nor endure, the conventional comedy.