Roger
rose and went to his shelves and began to look over the volumes there.
Perhaps a book of travel.... Stoddard's "Lectures on Japan."
Meanwhile Edith came into the room, sat down and took up her sewing. As she
did so he turned and glanced at her, and she smiled brightly back at him.
Yes, he thought with a genial glow, from this night on he would do his
part. He came back to his chair with a book in his hand, prepared to start
on his new course.
"Father," she said quietly. Her eyes were on the work in her lap.
"Yes, my child, what is it?"
"It's about John," she answered. And with a movement of alarm he looked at
his daughter intently.
"What's the matter with John?" he inquired.
"He has tuberculosis," she said.
"He has no such thing!" her father retorted. "John has Pott's Disease of
the spine!"
"Yes, I know he has," she replied. "And I'm sorry for him, poor lad. But in
the last year," she added, "certain complications have come. And now he's
tubercular as well."
"How do you know? He doesn't cough--his lungs are sound as yours or mine!"
"No, it's--" Edith pursed her lips. "It's different," she said softly.
"Who told you?" he demanded.
"Not Deborah," was the quick response. "She knew it, I'm certain, for I
find that she's been having Mrs. Neale, the woman who comes in to wash, do
John's things in a separate tub. I found her doing it yesterday, and she
told me what Deborah had said.
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