"How right you are!" said Miss Insull. "Two and carry three." That distant, feeble, querulous, pitiful cry continued obstinately. It continued for thirty minutes. Constance could not proceed with her work. The cry disintegrated her will, dissolved her hard sagacity. Without a word she crept upstairs, having carefully deposed the cap on her rocking-chair. Mr. Povey hesitated a moment and then bounded up after her, startling Fan. He shut the door on Miss Insull, but Fan was too quick for him. He saw Constance with her hand on the bedroom door. "My dear girl," he protested, holding himself in. "Now what ARE you going to do?" "I'm just listening," said Constance. "Do be reasonable and come downstairs." He spoke in a low voice, scarcely masking his nervous irritation, and tiptoed along the corridor towards her and up the two steps past the gas-burner. Fan followed, wagging her tail expectant. "Suppose he's not well?" Constance suggested. "Pshaw!" Mr. Povey exclaimed contemptuously. "You remember what happened last night and what you said!" They argued, subduing their tones to the false semblance of good-will, there in the closeness of the corridor. Fan, deceived, ceased to wag her tail and then trotted away. The baby's cry, behind the door, rose to a mysterious despairing howl, which had such an effect on Constance's heart that she could have walked through fire to reach the baby. But Mr. Povey's will held her. And she rebelled, angry, hurt, resentful. Commonsense, the ideal of mutual forbearance, had winged away from that excited pair. It would have assuredly ended in a quarrel, with Samuel glaring at her in black fury from the other side of a bottomless chasm, had not Miss Insull most surprisingly burst up the stairs. Mr. Povey turned to face her, swallowing his emotion. "A telegram!" said Miss Insull. "The postmaster brought it down himself--" "What? Mr. Derry?" asked Samuel, opening the telegram with an affectation of majesty. "Yes. He said it was too late for delivery by rights. But as it seemed very important ..." Samuel scanned it and nodded gravely; then gave it to his wife. Tears came into her eyes. "I'll get Cousin Daniel to drive me over at once," said Samuel, master of himself and of the situation. "Wouldn't it be better to hire?" Constance suggested. She had a prejudice against Daniel. Mr. Povey shook his head. "He offered," he replied. "I can't refuse his offer." "Put your thick overcoat on, dear," said Constance, in a dream, descending with him. "I hope it isn't--" Miss Insull stopped. "Yes it is, Miss Insull," said Samuel, deliberately. In less than a minute he was gone.