"Ah," thought Kate to herself, "she has heard. She has begun to feel sorry for me and has begun to stay away as people avoid the unhappy." But the two friends, each smiling into the other's eyes, their arms around each other, passed into the parlors. "Now that you are here at last, I shall keep you," said Kate, rising from the seat they had taken. "I will send the carriage home. George cannot be here to lunch and we shall have it all to ourselves as we used to when we were girls together." "No," exclaimed Isabel, drawing her down into the seat again, "I cannot stay. I had only a few moments and drove by just to speak to you, just to tell you how much I love you." Kate's face changed and she dropped her eyes. "Is so little of me so much nowadays?" she asked, feeling as though the friendship of a lifetime were indeed beginning to fail her along with other things. "No, no, no," cried Isabel. "I wish we could never be separated." She rose quickly and went over to the piano and began to turn over the music. "It seems so long since I heard any music. What has become of it? Has it all gone out of life? I feel as though there were none any more." Kate came over and looked at one piece of music after another irresolutely. "I have not touched the piano for weeks." She sat down and her fingers wandered forcedly through a few chords. Isabel stepped quickly to her side and laid restraining hands softly upon hers: "No; not to-day." Kate rose with averted face: "No; not any music to-day!" The friends returned to their seat, on which Kate left her work. She took it up and for a few moments Isabel watched her in silence. "When did you see Rowan?" "You know he lives in the country," replied Isabel, with an air of defensive gayety. "And does he never come to town?" "How should I know?" Kate took this seriously and her head sank lower over her work: "Ah," she thought to herself, "she will not confide in me any longer. She keeps her secrets from me--me who shared them all my life." "What is it you are making?" Isabel stretched out her hand, but Kate with a cry threw her breast downward upon her work. With laughter they struggled over it; Kate released it and Isabel rising held it up before her. Then she allowed it to drop to the floor. "Isabel!" exclaimed Kate, her face grown cold and hard. She stooped with dignity and picked up the garment. "Oh, forgive me," implored Isabel, throwing her arms around her neck. "I did not know what I was doing!" and she buried her face on the young wife's shoulder. "I was thinking of myself: I cannot tell you why!" Kate released herself gently. Her face remained grave. She had felt the first wound of motherhood: it could not be healed at once. The friends could not look at each other. Isabel began to draw on her gloves and Kate did not seek to keep her longer.