Treading as gently as possible, he ascended the stairs and entered his bedroom. The blind was drawn down, but sunlight shone through it and made a softened glow in the chamber. In a little cot was sitting his child, May, rather more than a year old; she had toys about her, and was for the moment contented. Clara lay on the bed, her face turned so that Sidney could not see it. He spoke to her, and she just moved her arm, but gave no reply. ‘Do you wish to be left alone?’ he asked, in a subdued and troubled voice. ‘Yes.’ ‘Shall I take May downstairs?’ ‘If you like. Don’t speak to me now.’ He remained standing by the bed for a minute, then turned his eyes on the child, who smiled at him. He could not smile in return, but went quietly away. ‘It’s one of her bad days,’ whispered Hewett, who met him at the foot of the stairs. ‘She can’t help it, poor girl!’ ‘No, no.’ Sidney ate what was put before him without giving a thought to it. When his eyes wandered round the kitchen the disorder and dirt worried him, but on that subject he could not speak. His hunger appeased, he looked steadily at Amy, and said in a kindly tone: ‘Father tells me you’ve had a stroke of bad luck, Amy. We must have a try at another place, mustn’t we? Hollo, there’s a window broken! Has Tom been playing at cricket in the room, eh?’ The girls kept silence. ‘Come and let’s make out the list for our shopping this afternoon,’ he continued. ‘I’m afraid there’ll have to be something the less for that window, girls; what do _you_ say?’ ‘We’ll do without a pudding to-morrow, Sidney,’ suggested Annie. ‘Oh come, now! I’m fond of pudding.’ Thus it was always; if he could not direct by kindness, he would never try to rule by harsh words. Six years ago it was not so easy for him to be gentle under provocation, and he would then have made a better disciplinarian in such a home as this. On Amy and Tom all his rare goodness was thrown away. Never mind; shall one go over to the side of evil because one despairs of vanquishing it?