Vina’s voice had a strange sound in the shut cab.  She felt Bedient’s presence, as some strength almost too great for her vitality to sustain.  He did not speak.

“Sometimes it seems almost sacrilege,” she said in a trembling tone, “to be so happy as we have been....  I should have persevered until I found her—­after her ... oh, what that must have meant to her!...  And she used to rely upon me so——­”

* * * * *

“...  Oh, Vina!” the woman whispered, holding out her arms.  “I have wanted you!...  I have waited for you to come....  I knew you would.  I always loved you, because you made me take him!...  We were so happy....  Draw the coverlet back——­”

A new-born child was sleeping at her breast.

Vina had knelt.  Her head bent forward in silent passion.

“Won’t you, Vina—­won’t you take him?”

Vina covered her face, but made no sound.

* * * * *

“She will take the little one,” said the voice above them.

Both women turned their eyes to Bedient.  Mary McCullom smiled shyly.

“I remember—­David—­Cairns,” she said, in an awed tone.  “This is not——­”

“No, dear, but it is enough.  I will take your—­baby.”

The smile brightened....  “Oh, we were so happy,” she whispered....  “And Vina—­tell him when he is older—­how his father and I loved—­the thought of him!”

“He will bless you,” Bedient said.

A glow had fallen upon the weary face of the mother....  “Yes,” she answered.  “He will bless us ... and I shall be with my husband....  Oh, now, I can go to my husband!”

* * * * *

Hours afterward, when it was over, Vina looked into Bedient’s face, saying: 

“You may ask David—­why I hesitated—­that first moment.”

“I know, Vina—­God love you!”

Before they left the hospital, he said:  “We won’t speak of this to-night....  Everything is arranged....  To-morrow morning, we will come for the little boy....  It is time for us to be at the Club.”

“I had forgotten,” Vina answered vaguely.

* * * * *

Kate Wilkes and Marguerite Grey were waiting that evening in the Club library.  David Cairns had left them a moment before, called to the telephone.

“Rather a contrast from that other night when we foregathered to meet The Modern—­fresh from the sea,” Kate Wilkes observed.

“Yes,” said the Grey One.

“David no longer belongs to the coasting-trade in letters,” Kate Wilkes went on whimsically.  “He has emerged from a most stubborn case of boyhood.  Now he’s got Vina’s big spirit, and she has her happiness and is doing her masterpiece——­”

The women exchanged glances.  “You mean the Stations?” the Grey One asked in her quiet way.

“Beth has done a great portrait—­enough for any woman—­just one like that,” Kate Wilkes added, ignoring the other.