Mrs. Vertrees made a little sound of commiseration.  “I don’t believe that was because he wasn’t suffering, though.  I’m sure it was only because he felt his business was so important.  Mary told me he seemed wrapped up in his son’s succeeding; and that was what he bragged about most.  He isn’t vulgar in his boasting, I understand; he doesn’t talk a great deal about his—­his actual money—­though there was something about blades of grass that I didn’t comprehend.  I think he meant something about his energy—­but perhaps not.  No, his bragging usually seemed to be not so much a personal vainglory as about his family and the greatness of this city.”

“’Greatness of this city’!” Mr. Vertrees echoed, with dull bitterness.  “It’s nothing but a coal-hole!  I suppose it looks ‘great’ to the man who has the luck to make it work for him.  I suppose it looks ‘great’ to any young man, too, starting out to make his fortune out of it.  The fellows that get what they want out of it say it’s ‘great,’ and everybody else gets the habit.  But you have a different point of view if it’s the city that got what it wanted out of you!  Of course Sheridan says it’s ’great’.”

Mrs. Vertrees seemed unaware of this unusual outburst.  “I believe,” she began, timidly, “he doesn’t boast of—­that is, I understand he has never seemed so interested in the—­the other one.”

Her husband’s face was dark, but at that a heavier shadow fell upon it; he looked more haggard than before. “’The other one’,” he repeated, averting his eyes.  “You mean—­you mean the third son—­the one that was here this evening?”

“Yes, the—­the youngest,” she returned, her voice so feeble it was almost a whisper.

And then neither of them spoke for several long minutes.  Nor did either look at the other during that silence.

At last Mr. Vertrees contrived to cough, but not convincingly.  “What—­ah—­what was it Mary said about him out in the hall, when she came in this afternoon?  I heard you asking her something about him, but she answered in such a low voice I didn’t—­ah—­happen to catch it.”

“She—­she didn’t say much.  All she said was this:  I asked her if she had enjoyed her walk with him, and she said, ’He’s the most wistful creature I’ve ever known.’”

“Well?”

“That was all.  He is wistful-looking; and so fragile—­though he doesn’t seem quite so much so lately.  I was watching Mary from the window when she went out to-day, and he joined her, and if I hadn’t known about him I’d have thought he had quite an interesting face.”

“If you ‘hadn’t known about him’?  Known what?”