“Who wants him to do anything else!” defended Kate quickly.  “Not you, surely!  Why, you’re so proud of him that you’re positively offensive!  And to think that you are working beside him every day, and helping him—­you know it’s all just the way you would have it, Honora.”

“Yes, it is,” agreed Honora contritely, “and you should see him in the laboratory when we two are alone there, Kate!  He’s a changed man.  It almost seems as if he grew in stature.  When he bends over those tanks where he is making his great experiments, all of my scientific training fails to keep me from seeing him as one with supernatural powers.  And that wonderful idea of his, the finding out of the secret of life, the prying into this last hidden place of Nature, almost overwhelms me.  I can work at it with a matter-of-fact countenance, but when we begin to approach the results, I almost shudder away from it.  But you must never let David know I said so.  That’s only my foolish, feminine, reverent mind.  All the trained and scientific part of me repudiates such nonsense.”

They turned in at the door of the Caravansary.

“I don’t want to see you repudiating any part of yourself,” cried Kate with sudden ardor.  “It’s so sweet of you, Honora, to be a mere woman in spite of all your learning and your power.”

Honora stopped and grasped Kate’s wrist in her strong hand.

“But am I that?” she queried, searching her friend’s face with her intense gaze.  “You see, I’ve tried—­I’ve tried—­”

She choked on the words.

“I’ve tried not to be a woman!” she declared, drawing her breath sharply between her teeth.  “It’s a strange, strange story, Kate.”

“I don’t understand at all,” Kate declared.

“I’ve tried not to be a woman because David is so completely and triumphantly a man.”

“Still I don’t understand.”

“No, I suppose not.  It’s a hidden history.  Sometimes I can’t believe it myself.  But let me ask you, am I the woman you thought I would be?”

Kate smiled slowly, as her vision of Honora as she first saw her came back to her.

“How soft and rosy you were!” she cried.  “I believe I actually began my acquaintance with you by hugging you.  At any rate, I wanted to.  No, no; I never should have thought of you in a scientific career, wearing Moshier gowns and having curtain-less windows.  Never!”

Honora stood a moment there in the dim hall, thinking.  In her eyes brooded a curiously patient light.

“Do you remember all the trumpery I used to have on my toilet-table?” she demanded.  “I sent it to Mary Morrison.  They say she looks like me.”

She put her hand on the dining-room door and they entered.  The others were there before them.  There were growing primroses on the table, and the sunlight streamed in at the window.  A fire crackled on the hearth; and Mrs. Dennison, in her old-fashioned widow’s cap, sat smiling at the head of her table.