"She does not complain of it," the professor answered. "And she says nothing of her own health, but tells me she is a little anxious about Janey, who does not seem quite herself." Tredennis looked out into the darkening street. They were sitting by the opened window. "She was not well when she went away," he said, a trifle abstractedly. "Janey?" asked the professor, as if the idea was new to him; "I did not know that." Tredennis roused himself. "I--was thinking of Bertha," he said. "Oh, of Bertha," said the professor, and then he lapsed into a reverie himself for a few moments; and seemed to watch the trees on the street without seeing them. "No, she was not well," he said, at length; "but I think she will be better when she comes back." "The rest and quiet"--began Tredennis. "I think she had determined to be better," said the professor. "Determined?" repeated Tredennis. "She has a strong will," returned the professor, "though it is a thing she is never suspected of. She does not suspect herself of it, and yet she has relied upon its strength from the first, and is relying upon it now. I am convinced that she went away with the determination to conquer a restlessness whose significance she is just awakening to. And she deliberately chose nature and the society of her children as the best means of cure." "Do you think," asked Tredennis, in a low voice, "that she will get over it?" The professor turned to look at him. "I don't know," he answered, with a slight tone of surprise. "Why did you fancy I would?" "You seem to understand her," said Tredennis. The professor sighed. "I have studied her so long," he replied, "that I imagine I know what she is _doing_, but you can't safely go beyond that with women; you can't say what they are _going_ to do,--with any degree of certainty. They are absorbingly interesting as a study, but they are not to be relied on. And they rarely compliment your intelligence by doing what you expect of them. _She_ has not done what I expected. She has lived longer than I thought she would without finding herself out. A year ago she believed that she had proved to herself that such an emotion as--as this was impossible to her. It was a very innocent belief, and she was entirely sincere in it, and congratulated herself upon it." He turned to Tredennis again with a sudden movement and a curious look of pain in his face. "I am afraid it's a great mistake," he said. "What?" Tredennis asked.