falter in my purpose--a purpose I determined to make known to my husband on his return. Arriving at the studio the next morning earlier than was my custom (Will had not yet put in an appearance and the delay but strengthened my purpose), I found that John had not yet returned from breakfast. His small sleeping-quarters, giving upon the studio proper, were open and, without meaning to be curious, I paused in the doorway. A charcoal sketch caught my eye. It was my own likeness. Scattered about the room were other sketches in various stages of development. I turned away, closing the door behind me. A warm flush suffused my being. I told myself it was shame at having intruded where I had not been bidden.... The various models of my son stood about the room and beckoned me. I ran my fingers over the little head, the pouting lips, and laid my cheek to his in silent salutation. The flood-gates strained and throbbed, threatening to break through.... A hand closed over mine.... I knew the hand.... In my complete immersion of thought I had not heard him come in.... I bent and pressed my lips upon his hand.... We stood looking at each other. Something of the shock I felt was mirrored in his eyes.... "Margaret ... Margaret," he had said ... and I, all unyielding, had sought the solace of his arms.... Some time later he placed a chair for me and forced me gently down ... still quivering under the shock of revelation--revelation, not of what I had done, but of what I _felt_! The spurious sentiment which had held me to the past of things shook me with its last convulsive gasps.... Seated in front of me, his hands clasping mine, he read the confusion in my mind: confusion which speech alone could dissipate....