"I don't know." She moved away from Henrietta, to glance in at Spencer. "Um." Henrietta shrugged. "Well, I'll be in early to-morrow." That was the first shadow to take real form. When _was_ she going back to work? And behind the shades drawn against Henrietta moved a sharp curiosity. What had Dr. Roberts done about the investigation? There had been a note from him, tossed into a drawer. A note of sympathy. Had he said anything about the work? But as she made a faint motion to go in search of the note, Spencer called her. Another shadow to grow more real was Miss Kelly. She had managed Letty with amazing competence, keeping her quiet and amused. She had come earlier in the morning than usual, to dress Marian and walk with her to school. But she was worried, shying away when she met Catherine in the hall, and her pale blue eyes stared with some entreaty in them. The day that Spencer first sat up, Charles carried him into the living room to the armchair, and Catherine tucked a rug about his feet and left him there, to look out of the window. As she went back to the bedroom, she heard a choking, muffled sound, and there in the hall stood Miss Kelly, her hands over her face. "What is it?" she asked gently, touching the woman's shoulder. Then, as she looked at the swollen, reddened eyes, she knew. "He's quite well again," she said. "Don't cry." "I--I hadn't left him a second," Miss Kelly whispered. "Just to help Letty down the steps." "I know. I haven't thought you were careless." "I thought I'd go crazy. He's never coasted in the street. The other boy thought of it." "It was an accident, Miss Kelly. You mustn't blame yourself." The entreaty faded under the flush of gratitude. Miss Kelly turned and hurried back to Letty's room, her square shoes clumping solidly. VII Saturday afternoon. Spencer was dressed, even to his shoes. Catherine had suggested moccasins, but Spencer held out for shoes. "Then I'll be sure, Mother, that I'm really up!" The terrifying pallor had left his face. The bandages were gone, too; just the pink, wrinkled mouth-like scar spoke audibly of the past weeks. "You'll have to part your hair in the middle, Spencer," Dr. Henrietta had told him, "until this bald spot grows out." And Spencer had retorted, promptly, "I wouldn't be that sissy!" Catherine moved one of her red checkers, smiled a little, wondering where he had picked up that idea, and glanced away from Spencer and checker board, out of the window. The bare trees of Morningside pricked up through gray mist; the distant roofs were vague. What a horrid day! It seemed too raw and cold for Spencer's first trip outdoors. But he really was well again. Monday he could go out. It was true, Henrietta's prophecy. She was being let down with a thud. There seemed no place where she could take hold of ordinary life again. Spencer giggled. "I jumped three of your men, Mother, and you never saw I could."