Yes, she could see where this was set to lead. He could leave her with the children; but she--men that married for a home--could not leave him with the children. She said gently, “Dear, there’ll not be the least difficulty. Everything’s perfectly arranged. Everything will perfectly well go on.” He had not moved his pose and did not move it. His voice presented in tone the profound meditation that his pose presented. He said, “I don’t quite mean that. I mean, do you always feel everything’s quite all right with them?” How setting now? She answered, “Dear, of course I do.” His eyes remained upon the fire. “Rosalie, d’you know I sometimes don’t.” Her motion--a lifting of her face, a questing of her brows--was of a helmsman’s gesture, suspicious to catch before it set a shifting of the breeze. “Harry, in what way? They’re splendid.” “You feel that?” “Dear, you know they are.” He put his pipe to his mouth and with that meditative tapping tapped his teeth. “Splendid, yes, in health, in appearance, in development, in all that kind of thing. I don’t mean that.” He turned his face towards her and spoke directly. “Rosalie, have you ever thought they’re not quite like other children?” Oh, setting from what quarter this? She said, “They’re better--miles and miles.” He got up. “Well, that’s all right. If you have noticed nothing, that’s all right.” “But, Harry. I am at a loss, dear. Of course it’s all right. But what have you noticed, think you’ve noticed?” He was standing before her, his back against the mantelpiece, looking down at her. “Just that--not quite like other children.” “But in what way?” “It’s hard to say, old girl. If you’ve not noticed it, harder still. Not quite so childish as at their age I seem to remember myself with my brothers and sisters being childish. A kind of--reserve. A kind of--self-contained.” She shook her head, “No, no.” “You think it’s fancy?” “I’m sure it is.” He was silent a moment. “It’s rather worried me. And of course now--If you are going to be away--” Stand by! She had the drift of this! She said simply, “Harry, this can’t be.” “You can’t give up the idea?” Her hand upon the helm that steered her life constricted. “It is not to be asked of me to give it up.” She paused. She said softly, “Dear, this is a forward step for me. You are asking me to make a sacrifice. I would not ask you.” He began, “There are sacrifices--” “They are not asked of men.” He said, “Rosalie, you said once, when Benji was born, that, if at any time need be, you would give up, not a thing like this, but your work entirely.” As if to shield or to support her heart she drew her left hand to it. “Would you give up yours, Harry?” He said quickly, “I’m not suggesting such a thing. It is ridiculous. I’m only showing you--”