and concluded that even though he cared not a jot for Rose, at
least he could think of no other woman who could carry a larger
share of the drudgery in their dusty lives, help save more and,
on the whole, bother him less. He, like his rag-weed, had settled
down to an apathetic jog.

Rose was convinced that Martin would make too unkind a father; he
had no wish for another taste of the general confusion and
disorganized routine her confinement had entailed. Besides, it
would be inconvenient if she were to die, as Dr. Bradley quite
solemnly had warned him she might only too probably. Without any
exchange of words, it was settled there should not be another
child--settled, he dismissed it. In a way, he had come to
appreciate Rose, but it was absurd to compliment anyone, let
alone a wife whom he saw constantly. Physically, she did not
interest him; in fact, the whole business bored him. It was
tiresome and got one nowhere. He decided this state of mind must
be rather general among married people, and reasoned his way to
the conclusion that marriage was a good thing in that it drove
out passion and placed human animals on a more practicable
foundation. If there had been the likelihood of children, he
undoubtedly would have sought her from time to time, but with
that hope out of their lives the attraction died completely.

When he was through with his work, it was late and he was sleepy.
When he woke early in the morning, he had to hurry to his stock.
So that which always had been less than secondary, now became
completely quiescent, and he was satisfied that it should. It
never occurred to him to consider what Rose might be thinking and
feeling. She wondered about it, and would have liked to ask