Putting down the teaspoon and withdrawing the towel, Brown snuggled the baby in his left arm.  Warmth and food had begun their work in soothing the little creature, and it was quiet, its eyelids drooping heavily.

He got up, carried the baby to the couch, with one hand arranged a steamer rug lying there so that it made a warm nest, and laid the small bundle in it.

Then he returned to his chair by the fire.  He lifted his eyes for a long, keen look into his sister’s face, until she stirred restlessly under the inspection.

“Well, what do you see?” she asked.

“I see,” said Brown slowly, “a woman who is trying to live without remembering her immortality.”

She shivered suddenly, there before the blazing fire.  “I’m not sure that I believe in it,” she said fiercely.  “Now I’ve shocked you, Don, but I can’t help it.  I’m not sure of anything, these days.  That’s why—­”

“Why you want to forget.  But you can’t forget.  And the reason why you can’t forget is because you do believe in it.  Every day people are trying to forget one of the greatest facts in the universe.  They may deny it with their lips, but with their hearts they know it is true.”

She did not answer.  Her brother drew his chair closer, leaned forward, and took one of the jewelled hands in his.  He spoke very gently, and in his voice was a certain quality of persuasion which belongs not to all voices which would persuade.

“Sue, make room in your life for a little child.  You need him.”

Her glance evaded his, flashed past his to the small, still bundle on the couch.  Then, suddenly, into her unhappy eyes leaped a suspicion.  She straightened in her chair.

“You don’t mean—­you’re not suggesting—­”

He smiled, comprehending.  “No, no—­nothing like that.  Your heart isn’t big enough for that—­yet.  It’s the mothers of children who make room for the waifs, or those who have long been mothers in heart and have been denied.  You don’t belong to either of those classes, do you?”

She drew a stifled breath.  “You don’t know what you are talking about, Don.  How could you, a bachelor like you?”

“Couldn’t I?  Well, Sue, if fathers may be divided into the same two classes, I might be found in one of them.”

She stared at him.  “You?  Oh, I can’t believe it.  You could have married long ago, if you had wanted to.  You could have married anybody—­simply anybody!”

“You do me too much honour—­or discredit, I’m not just sure which.”

“But it’s true.  With your position—­and your money!  Rich and brilliant clergymen aren’t so common, Donald Brown.  And your personality, your magnetism!  Men care for you.  Women have always hung on your words!”

He made a gesture of distaste; got up.

“Sterility of soul is a worse thing than sterility of body,” said he.  “But sometimes—­God cures the one when He cures the other.”