Leverich’s meeting with Dosia had been characterized on his part by a show of brusque uninterest; he seemed to her indefinably lowered and coarsened in some way—his cheeks sagged, in his eyes was an unpleasant admission that he must bluster to avoid the detection of some weakness. And Dosia had lived in his house, eaten at his table, received benefits from him, caressed him prettily! He had been really kind to her, she ought not to let that fact be defaced, but everything connected with that time seemed to lower her in retrospect, to fill her with a sort of horror. All his loud rebuttal of anxiety now could not cover an undercurrent of uneasiness that made the anxiety of the two women tenfold greater when he was gone. Mr. Girard had come twice the next morning. Dosia, as well as Lois, had seen him both times; he had greeted her with matter-of-fact courtesy, and appealed to her with earnest painstaking, whenever necessary, for details or confirmation, in their mutual office of helpers to Mrs. Alexander, but the retrieving warmth and intimacy of his manner the day he had avoided her in the street was lacking. There was certainly nothing in Dosia’s quietly impersonal attitude to call it forth. Her face no longer swiftly mirrored each fleeting emotion at all times, for anyone to see—poor Dosia had learned in a bitter school her woman’s lesson of concealment. But, if Girard were only sensibly consulting with her, toward Lois his sympathy was instinct with strength and helpfulness. He seemed to have affiliations with reporters, with telegraph operators, and with a hundred lower runways of life unknown to other people. He gave the tortured wife the feeling so dear, so sustaining to one in sorrow, of his being entirely one with her in its absorption—of there being no other interest, no other issue in life, but this one of Justin’s return. When Girard came, bright and alert and confident, all fears seemed to be set at rest; during the few minutes that he stayed all difficulties were swept away, everything was on the right train, word would arrive from Justin at once; and when he left, all was black and terrible again. The children had clung to Dosia in the hours of these strange days when mamma never seemed to hear their questions. Dosia read to them, made merry for them, and saw to the household, which was dependent on the service of a new and untrained maid, going back in the interval to put her young arms around Lois and hold her close with aching pity.