"The poor are always with you," suggested Peter. "You can always come to Greville Street, if you can't find them nearer at hand. And when you come we'll take Algernon's blue neck-ribbon off, that none of us may appear beautifully dressed." "But I _like_ Algernon's blue bow," Lucy protested. "I love people to be bright and beautiful.... That's why I like Denis so much, you know. Only I'm not sure I properly belong, that's all." Obviously the remedy was to come to Greville Street. Lucy came more and more as the months went by. Rhoda said once, "Doesn't it bother you to come all this way, into these ugly streets?" and she shook her head. "Oh, I _like_ it. I like these streets better than the ones round us. And I like your house better than ours too; it's smaller." Rhoda could have thought she looked wistful, this fortunate person who was in love with her splendid husband and lived in the dwellings of the prosperous. "Don't you like large houses?" she asked, without much caring; for she was absorbed in her own thoughts in these days. Lucy puckered her wide forehead. "Why, no. No, I don't believe I do," she said, as if she was finding it out with a little surprise. Rhoda saw her one day in July. In a few weeks, she told Rhoda (Peter was out that afternoon), she and Denis were going up to Scotland, to stay with people. "We shall miss you," said Rhoda dully. "And me you," said Lucy, with a more acute sense of it. "Peter'll miss you dreadfully," said Rhoda. She was lying on the sofa, pale and tired in the heat. "Only," said Lucy, "next month you'll both be feeling too interested to miss anyone." "Peter," said Rhoda, "cares more about the baby coming than I do." Lucy said, "Peter loves little weak funny things like that." She was a little sad that Rhoda didn't seem to care more about the baby; babies are such entrancing toys to those who like toys, people like her and Peter. Suddenly Lucy saw that two large tears were rolling down Rhoda's pale cheeks as she lay. Lucy knelt by the sofa side and took Rhoda's hand in both of hers and laid her cheek upon it. "Please, little Rhoda, not to cry. Please, little Rhoda, tell me." Rhoda, with her other hand, brushed the tears away. "I'm a silly. I suppose I'm crying because I can't feel to care about anything in the world, and I wish I could. What's the use of a baby if you can't love it? What's the use of a husb--" Lucy's hand was over her lips, and Lucy whispered, "Oh, hush, little Rhoda, hush!" But Rhoda pushed the hand away and cried, "Oh, why do we pretend and pretend and pretend? It's Guy I care for--Guy, Guy, Guy, who's gone for good and all." She fell to crying drearily, with Lucy's arms about her.