Denzil thought the same thing without the last qualification. He was under no delusions as to the speedy end of strife. He could not help visioning the wonderful interest the hope of a son would be to him if she really were his wife--how filled with supreme sympathy and tenderness would be the months coming on. How they would talk together about their wishes and the mystery and the glory of the evolution of life. And here she had blushed at some thought concerning it, and no words must pass between them about this sacred thing. He longed to ask her many questions--and then a pang of jealousy shook him. She would confide to John, not to him, all the emotions aroused by the thought of the child--then. He wondered what she would do in the winter all alone. Had she relations she was fond of? He wished that she knew his Mother, who was the kindest sweetest lady in the world. He said aloud: "I would like you to meet my Mother. She is going to be at Bath for a month. She is almost an invalid with rheumatism in her ankle where she broke it five years ago. I believe you would get on." "I should love to--it is not an impossible distance from us. I will go over to see her, if you will tell her about me--so that she won't think some stranger is descending upon her some day!" "She will be so pleased," and he thought that he would be happier knowing that they were friends. "Does she mean a great deal to you? Some mothers do," and she sighed--her own was less than emptiness--they had never been near, and now her stepfather and the step-family claimed all the affection her mother could feel. "She is a great dear--one of my best friends," and his eyes beamed. "We have always been pals--because I have no brothers and sisters I suppose she spoilt me!" "I daresay you were quite a nice little boy!" Amaryllis smiled--"and it must be divine to have a son--I expect it would be easy to spoil one." Denzil clasped his hands rather tightly--she looked so adorable as she said that, her eyes soft with inward knowledge of her great hope. How impossible it all was that they must remain strangers--casual cousins and nothing more. "It must be an awful responsibility to have children," he said, watching her. "Don't you think so?" The pink flared up again as she answered a rather solemn "Yes." Then she went on, a little hurriedly: "One would try to study their characters and lead them to the highest good, as gardeners watch over and train plants until they come to perfection. But what funny, serious things we are talking about," and she gave a little, nervous laugh--"Like two old grandfather philosophers." "It is rather a treat to talk seriously; one so seldom has the chance to meet any one who understands." "To understand!" and she sighed. "Alas--How quite perfect life would be--" and then she stopped abruptly. If she continued her words might contain a reflection upon John. Denzil bent forward eagerly--what had she been going to say?