"It was at everybody's expense. Marriage is what makes us civilized. If anybody injures marriage we all pay." She was silent. "If every dissatisfied wife should do what you did, could decent life go on? Wouldn't we all drop down a little nearer the animals?" "Perhaps so," she said vaguely. But she was not following him. She had entered into this experience of sin, not by the door of reason, but of emotion; she could leave it only by the same door. The high appeal to individual renunciation for the good of the many, was entirely beyond her. Dr. Lavendar did not press it any further. "Well, anyhow," she said dully, "I didn't get any happiness--whether it was at other people's expense or not. When David came, I thought, 'now I am going to be happy!' That was all I wanted: happiness. And now you will take him away." "I have not said I would take him away." She trembled so at that, that for an instant she could not speak. "Not take him?" "Not if you think it is best for him to stay with you." She began to pant with fear, "You mean something by that, I know you do I Oh, what do you mean? I cannot do him any harm!" "Woman," said Dr. Lavendar solemnly, "_can you do him any good_?" She cowered silently away from him. "Can you teach him to tell the truth, you, who have lived a lie? Can you make him brave, you, who could not endure? Can you make him honorable, you, who have deceived us all? Can you make him unselfish, you, who have thought only of self? Can you teach him purity, you, who--" "Stop! I cannot bear it." "Tell me the truth: can you do him any good?" That last solemn word fell into profound silence. There was not a sound in the still darkness of the study; and suddenly her soul was still, too ... the whirlwind of anger had died out; the shock of responsibility had subsided; the hiss of those flames of shame had ceased. She was in the centre of all the tumults, where lies the quiet mind of God. For a long time she did not speak. Then, by and by, her face hidden in her arms on the table, she said, in a whisper: "No." _And after the fire, the still small Voice._ CHAPTER XXXIII Dr. Lavendar looked at the bowed head; but he offered no comfort. When she said brokenly, "No; I can't have him. I can't have him," he assented; and there was silence again. It was broken by a small, cheerful voice: "Mary says supper's ready. There's milk toast, an'--" Dr. Lavendar went as quickly as he could to the door; when he opened it he stood between the little boy and Helena. "Tell Mary not to wait for me; but ask her to give you your supper." "An' Mary says that in Ireland they call clover 'shamrocks'; an'--" Dr. Lavendar gently closed the door. When he went back to his seat on the other side of the table, she said faintly, "That was--?" "Yes," said Dr. Lavendar. "Oh," she whispered. "I knew I would have to give him up. I knew I had no right to him." "No; you had no right to him."