Their evenings now had become rather of one pattern. They talked or read; Mrs. Warner came in; they went driving in the Warner’s big car or in Dick’s small one; they went to a moving picture or made a call on Dick’s mother--but always with the need of getting home early to the baby--always with the fear that Cecily was getting overtired hanging over them. Even their pleasures, their diversions, were never carefree. There were times when Dick felt that nurses and doctors and precautions about health had surrounded them rather unpleasantly long. But any such thoughts were always suppressed by the feeling that it was immensely selfish to feel any personal repressions when he had three healthy children and Cecily had been through so much. Three babies in four years! He had come to know and abhor the tone in which people, especially women, made that statement. His talk seemed to bother Cecily. She brought it up again later in the evening when they had come home from a ride in the country and were giving the children a final inspection for the night. Dorothea and Leslie, in their white cribs, sturdy little bodies outlined under the miniature coverlets, were very pleasant to look at. It was a rite with Cecily--this last look--a reward for all the care they caused her and a further prayer for their health and safety. “Don’t you think,” she said softly, as she stood looking at them, “that they are much more important than all the fun we might have had playing like Fliss?” “You can’t compare two such dissimilar things,” said Dick, and then knew immediately that his remark had been true, but inadequate. “But you’d sooner have these?” He became a little irritated that she should have to ask such a question. Merely asking it assumed that he was hankering after things that he was not even wanting--that he wasn’t a devoted parent. “Wouldn’t you?” he countered, rather cruelly. Cecily merely looked at him in high reproach. Then, because he felt a little conscience-smitten at the fact that Cecily was hurt, he followed her into her room and played with the little baby, who had waked up for his supper. He was a very gay father and ordinarily Cecily loved this mood and joined him in it, but to-night she was wrapped in seriousness. “Of course they’ll be older soon, and then I can leave them to a nurse, but while I am still nursing the baby, I don’t see how I can manage a lot of society.” “For Heaven’s sake, Cecily, don’t be so absurd. Who wants you to do society? I wouldn’t let you if you wanted to. Who could be happier than I am just as I am?”