So, with the deep craving which was a part of his inmost self, Roger tried to bind together what was old and what was new.  But his thoughts grew vague and drifting.  He realized how weary he was, and said good-night and went to bed.  There, just before he fell asleep, again he had a feeling of relief at the knowledge that one at least in the family was to be rich this year.  With a guilty sensation he shook off the thought, and within a few moments after that his harsh regular breathing was heard in the room.

CHAPTER XXVI

It was only a few days later that Edith arrived with her children.

Roger met her at the train at eight o’clock in the evening.  The fast mountain express of the summer had been taken off some time before, so Edith had had to be up at dawn and to change cars several times on the trip.  “She’ll be worn out,” he thought as he waited.  The train was late.  As he walked about the new station, that monstrous sparkling hive of travel with its huge halls and passageways, its little village of shops underground and its bewildering levels for trains, he remembered the interest Bruce had shown in watching this immense puzzle worked out, the day and night labor year after year without the stopping of a train, this mighty symbol of the times, of all the glorious power and speed in an age that had been as the breath to his nostrils.  How Bruce had loved the city!  As Roger paced slowly back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back, there came over his heavy visage a look of affection and regret which made even New Yorkers glance at him as they went nervously bustling by.  From time to time he smiled to himself.  “The Catskills will be Central Park!  All this city needs is speed!”

But suddenly he remembered that Bruce had always been here before to meet his wife and children, and that Edith on her approaching train must be dreading her arrival.  And when at last the train rolled in, and he spied her shapely little head in the on-coming throng of travellers, Roger saw by her set steady smile and the strained expression on her face that he had guessed right.  With a quick surge of compassion he pressed forward, kissed her awkwardly, squeezed her arm, then hastily greeted the children and hurried away to see to the trunks.  That much of it was over.  And to his relief, when they reached the house, Edith busied herself at once in helping the nurse put the children to bed.  Later he came up and told her that he had had a light supper prepared.

“Thank you, dear,” she answered, “it was so thoughtful in you.  But I’m too tired to eat anything.”  And then with a little assuring smile, “I’ll be all right—­I’m going to bed.”

“Good-night, child, get a fine long sleep.”

And Roger went down to his study, feeling they had made a good start.

* * * * *

“What has become of Martha?” Edith asked her father at breakfast the next morning.