Elaine was a little baffled. “Take Nurse,” she said argumentatively; “I searched over two continents until I found the one woman who . . .” “An admirable person!” said Taswell. “I’m sure you couldn’t do better.” They exchanged a look. Elaine was the first to turn her eyes away. A subterranean understanding was created; and because of it Elaine was silently obliged to abandon her position. She resumed her pacing. The young man watched her, clearly not thinking of the child. Presently she began to speak in a low, moved voice, more to herself than to him. “I’ll find a way . . . somehow! Not necessarily through books and learning. There are other ways of making a good life. . . . When he’s a little older I will take him away. To Wyoming. There will be no servants there. I will ride with him, and shoot with him, and go on hikes. I can make a boy of myself . . . !” She turned on the silent Taswell as if he were opposing her. Her deep bosom rose and fell under the black silk; her glance made the young man think of Boadicea fronting the Roman legions. “In spite of everything . . . _everything_. I will make a man of him! _My_ kind of man! Nothing can stand against a determination such as mine. Half of him is of me. I have character. I will strike it into him!” Taswell had risen. His air of astuteness was gone. He gazed at her, rapt and saddened. It was not her words, but her look of indomitable despair. “Oh, Mrs. Kaplan . . . !” he murmured. The sound of his voice recalled Elaine to her usual self. Turning, and affecting to straighten some objects on her desk, she said in a muffled voice: “You have been awfully decent. I quite appreciate your position. When would you like to go?” He roused himself. He put down the cigarette which he had never lighted. “At your convenience,” he said, lowering his eyes. “As soon as possible.” “You are quite right. There is no use dragging on with a situation once you discover that it has become impossible. You needn’t come back to Sturges again.” “Thank you,” he murmured. She approached him as if to say good-bye. “I shall always be glad to see you, though. I’ll send you a check.” Taswell, sensible young man as he was, was hurt to the quick. “Oh, Mrs. Kaplan . . . !” he said, very differently from the first time. “Why . . . what’s the matter?” asked Elaine, surprised. He raised his eyes full to hers. “I love you,” he said. Elaine turned away with a quick movement. Taswell’s eyes fastened on the white V of her back that showed, instinct with life, under the dead silk. After a moment or two she said coldly: “Why did you feel it necessary to tell me that?” “I didn’t ‘feel it necessary’,” he said sorely. “It sprang out of me. . . . What harm can it do? I am going.”