“I held him when he died, Betty.  I had never been close to a baby before—­never!  A strange thing happened to me as I looked at him.  It was like knowing what a flower would be while holding only the bud.  The baby’s eyes had the same expression I have seen in Con’s eyes—­in Brace’s; I know now it is the whole world’s look.  It was full of wonder—­full of questions as to what it all meant.  I am sure that it comes and goes but never really is answered—­here, Betty.”

“Oh!  Lyn.  And I have been bitter—­miserable—­because I felt that it wasn’t fair to take my baby until he had done some little work in the world!  And now—­why, he did a great thing.  My little, little baby!” Betty was clinging to Lynda, crying as if all the agony were swept away forever.

“Sometimes”—­Lynda pressed against Betty—­“sometimes, lately, in Con’s eyes I have seen the look!  It was as if he were asking me whether he had yet been punished enough!  And I’ve been thinking of myself—­thinking what Con owed me; what I wanted; when I should have it!  I hate and despise myself for my littleness and prudery; why, he’s a thousand times finer than I!  That’s what pedestals have done for women.  But now, Betty, I’m down; and I’m down to stay.  I’m—­”

“Wait, Lyn, dear.”  Betty mopped her wet face and started up.  She had seen a tall form pass the window, and she felt as if something tremendous were at stake.  “Just a minute, Lyn.  I must speak to Mrs. Waters if you are to stay over night.  She’s old, you know, and goes early to bed.”

Lynda still sat on the floor—­her face turned to the red glow of the fire that was growing duller and duller.  Presently the door opened, and her words flowed on as if there had been no interruption.

“I’m going to Con to-morrow.  I had to make sure—­first; but I know now, I know!  I’m going to tell him all about it—­and ask him to let me walk beside him.  I’m going to tell him how lonely I’ve been in the place he put me—­how I’ve hated it!  And some time—­I feel as sure as sure can be—­there will be something I can do that will prove it.”

“My—­darling!”

Arms stronger than Betty’s held her close—­held her with a very human, understanding strength.

“You’ve done the one big thing, Lyn!”

“Not yet, not yet, Con, dear.”

“You have made me realize what a wrong—­a bitter wrong—­I did you, when I thought you could be less than a loving woman.”

“Oh, Con!  And have you been lonely, too?”

“Sweet, I should have died of loneliness had something not told me I was still travelling up toward you.  That has made it possible.”

“Instead”—­Lynda drew his face down to hers—­“instead, I’ve been struggling up toward you!!  Dear, dear Con, it isn’t men and women; it’s the man—­the woman.  Can’t you see?  It’s the sort of thing life makes of us that counts; not the steps we take on the way.  You—­you know this, Con?”