But Lois knew, without needing to be told, that he was a man who had suffered, and still suffered at times profoundly, from having all the tenderness of his nature thrown back upon itself, without reference to that sting of the known comment of other men: “It must be pretty tough to have your wife go back on you like that.” In some mysterious way his wife had not needed the richness of the affection that he lavished on her. If her heart had been warmed by it a little when she married him, it had soon cooled off; she was glad to get away, and he had proudly let her go. Lois smiled up at Justin with sudden coquetry as he mounted the porch steps, but he only looked at her absently as he said: “There seems to be a shower coming up. Dosia’s hurrying down the road. I think I’d better take the chairs in now.” CHAPTER SIXTEEN Dosia had come back from the Leverichs’ to a household in which her presence no longer made any difference for either pleasure or annoyance. She came and went unquestioned, practiced interminably, and spent her evenings usually in her own room, developing a hungry capacity for sleep, of which she could not seem to have enough—sleep, where all one’s sensibilities were dulled, and shame and tragedy forgotten. She had, however, rather more of the society of the children than before, owing to their mother’s preoccupation. Nothing could have been more of a drop from her position as princess and lady-of-love in the Leverich domicile, where she had been the center of attraction and interest. Everything seemed terribly unnatural here, and she the most unnatural of all—as if she were clinging temporarily to a ledge in mid-air, waiting for the next thing to happen. Lois had really tried to show some sympathy for the girl, but was held back by her repugnance to Lawson, which inevitably made itself felt. She couldn’t understand how Dosia could possibly have allowed herself to get into an equivocal position with such a man—“really not a gentleman,” as she complained to Justin, and he had answered with the vague remark that you could never tell about a girl; even in its vagueness the reply was condemning. The people whom Dosia met in the street looked at her with curiously questioning eyes as they talked about casual matters. Mrs. Leverich bowed incidentally as she passed in her carriage, where another visitor was ensconced, a blonde lady from Montreal, in whom her hostess was absorbed.