“Why, Lena!” he cried. “What in the world’s the matter?” She continued to stare at him, not replying, and he saw that she was trembling slightly from head to foot. “Lena! You’re lettin’ yourself get all upset over something or other again. You’ve gone ever since Henry was born without gettin’ this way. I was almost in hopes—in hopes——” “Yes?” she said, as he faltered. “What were your hopes?” “Why, I was almost in hopes it—it wouldn’ happen again.” “What wouldn’t happen again?” “Your gettin’ upset like this,” he answered apologetically. “I honestly did pretty near hope it, Lena. It seemed to me we’d maybe kind of reached a turning point and could get along all right together, now Henry’s come to us.” “Maybe we _have_ reached a turning point,” she said. “I suppose it’s generally considered _quite_ a turning point when a wife leaves her husband for just cause, isn’t it?” “Oh, dear me!” Dan sighed, and sat down heavily on the side of his bed, taking his head between his hands. “I guess we’ve got to go through another of ’em.” “Another of what?” “Another of these troubles,” he sighed. “Well, what’s this one all about, Lena?” She came toward him angrily. “I’d like to know what you’d think of any other man that treated his wife as you do me! What would you say of any other man who went out the very night his child was born and did what you did?” “Why, I didn’t do anything,” he said, and looked up at her, surprised. “You didn’t? Don’t you call it anything to go to see that woman at midnight?” “You mean our goin’ in to Martha’s?” Dan asked, his surprise increasing. “It wasn’t midnight; it was about ten o’clock, and we only stayed a few minutes—half an hour maybe. I just wanted to tell her about the baby.” “Yes, so I hear,” Lena returned bitterly. “You took particularly good care not to mention that little call to me afterwards!” “No; I didn’t,” he protested. “I never thought of it; I’ve been too busy thinkin’ about the baby and Ornaby. I don’t say though”—he paused, and then went on with painful honesty: “I don’t say I _would_ have mentioned it to you, if I _had_ thought of it. I know you’ve never liked Martha. We could all see that, and it’s been sort of a trouble to us——” “To ‘us’?” she interrupted sharply. “To whom?” “Well, to me, of course; but I mean mother, too, though she’s never said anything about it. We’ve all been as fond of Martha all her life as if she was one of our own family, and, for instance, I think mother was probably a little worried because she thought she’d better not invite her to-night, on your account. What I mean, though, is that I probably mightn’t have told you about our goin’ in to see her that night, even if I had thought of it afterwards, because as I knew how you felt about her I’d have been afraid of it’s gettin’ you into one of these upsetnesses. I guess I’d have been right, too,” he added, with a rueful laugh. “Somebody’s told you about it, and you _have_ got into one.”