I was angry now and Edith knew it. She seemed to glory in it, for she prodded me again with another false accusation against Madge, and before I could stop it we were quarrelling dreadfully. I don't remember all we said to each other that morning in Edith's room, but I know our words came thick and fast; I know our voices shook with our fury, and that we glared at each other across the expanse of the snowy bed with actual hatred in our eyes. It all ended by Edith's suddenly flinging herself face down upon the pillows, and bursting into awful sobs. Not until then did I realise that my sister-in-law was not well, nor quite herself these days--I had never seen her cry before in my life--and frightened I went out of the room to call for help. That noon Alec sent for a doctor, and half an hour later it was announced that Edith had a temperature. A trained nurse appeared at four o'clock and Alec called me into the library. He was dreadfully concerned about the consequences of my news in regard to Madge; I shouldn't have mentioned it, it seems; it might be the cause of the most dreadful results--he couldn't tell. Edith was very excitable just now. I ought to have known better. He blamed me wholly. I had been careless, inconsiderate and cruel. I had better leave for home as soon as possible. The thought of me in the house annoyed and disturbed Edith even now; she had inquired three times if I had gone. Alec had ordered the automobile; I could catch the five-thirty if I hurried. He wished I hadn't come to see Edith at all; she had been so well; everything had appeared very favourable before my arrival; Alec couldn't understand my attitude toward Edith anyway; she had done everything for Ruth and me (had I forgotten my wedding?) and I paid her back with gratitude like this! I didn't reply to my brother. Alec and I had travelled too many miles in opposite directions to understand each other now. A bitter antagonism arose in my heart against Edith. I should have quarrelled with Alec too had I opened my mouth to speak. I went out and got into the automobile without a retort, and as I whisked out of the driveway and looked back at Edith's curtained windows, a wicked wish was born in my heart. I said to myself, "I hope it _will_ be a girl. 'Twould serve her exactly right." It was, however, a pretty discouraged ambassador of peace who crawled back to her little brown refuge that night about eight o'clock. Will was sitting by the fire reading a big book, his hair all ruffled up as it always is when he reads. Madge had gone upstairs to bed. The comfortable lamp-light, the dear, homely black walnut furniture, Will's quiet sympathy, never seemed more precious to me than that night. "O Will," I said tearfully when he kissed me, "I've quarrelled with Edith and Alec. And, oh, dear, it was the last thing in the world I meant to do."