Catherine looked steadily at her friend. Even in the soft firelight Dr. Henrietta Gilbert retained her smooth, competent neatness. A smoothness like porcelain, thought Catherine. Porcelain with warmth in it, she added hastily to herself, as if she had made an unfair accusation. Firm, kindly lips; contented, straightforward blue eyes; plump, ungraceful body; Dr. Henrietta had a compact, assured personality, matter of fact, intelligent, enduring. Catherine wondered: do I give, as she looks at me, as complete an impression of me? I feel hidden away. Then she thought, quickly, of the grim days when Spencer lay so piteously still except when he struggled for breath, when he had so nearly died--pneumonia--and Henrietta had seemed to hold herself between the child and death itself, calm, untroubled. She was a wonder! "You couldn't have done it, could you," she said suddenly, "if you had had children?" Then she stopped, aghast at her heedlessness. She had never said that when Bill was there to hear her. But Henrietta's response was cheerful and prompt. "Certainly not. That's why we haven't any." Catherine glanced shyly toward Bill. His eyes, inscrutable as ever, did not lift from the fire. "That's"--Catherine hesitated--"that's what I want to talk about." "What?" Henrietta was on her guard. "Oh, I don't mean you. I mean me?" She balanced the letter on her knee and pointed at it. "That letter. I haven't opened it, but it's an omen." "Don't be mysterious," Henrietta jibed at her. "I want to go to work. I wrote to the Bureau, where I had that job while Charles was in France. This is their answer." Bill leaned forward to tap his pipe out on the fire tongs. Catherine felt his eyes on her face. "Catherine! Bully for you!" Henrietta clapped her hand on Catherine's shoulder. "Have you told Charles? Can you manage it?" "I told him." Catherine drank eagerly of the bluff encouragement in Henrietta's voice. "He calls it my 'unsatisfied trend.' But he wouldn't object, of course." "I thought you didn't care much for that work. Statistics, wasn't it?" Bill put his question quietly. "Part of it I didn't." Catherine admitted that reluctantly. "But a new investigation is being started, on teaching. I am interested in that. I taught, you know, before I married, and I think that is as important as anything in the world." "Read the letter, woman!" Henrietta shook Catherine's shoulder. Catherine ran her finger under the flap and unfolded the square page. As she bent near the firelight, a log rolled off the burning pile, sending a yellow flame high into the chimney, touching into relief the wistful, tremulous lines of her mouth. "They want me." Her voice was hushed, as she looked up at Henrietta. "At once. Dr. Roberts says he had been looking for someone. He thought I was unavailable." A shrill, frightened cry darted into the room, sharp as a flame. Catherine leaped to her feet. "Spencer. He has nightmares." She went hastily out to the sleeping porch.