“I don’t see how she can.  She looked ghastly when I met her the other day.”

“That was when Uncle Norman was in New York,” said Robert.  “It is different when he is at home.”  As he spoke, an expression of intensest pity came over the young man’s face.  “I wonder what a woman who loves her husband will not do to shield him from any annoyance or suffering,” he said.

“I believe some women are born fixed to a sort of spiritual rack for the sake of love, and remain there through life,” said Risley.  “But I have always liked Mrs. Lloyd.  She ought to have good advice.  What is it, has she told you?”

“Yes,” said Robert.

“It will be quite safe with me.”

Robert whispered one word in his ear.

“My God!” said Risley, “that?  And do you mean to say that she has had no advice except Dr. Story?”

“Yes, I took her to New York to a specialist some time ago.  Uncle Norman never knew it.”

“And nothing can be done?”

“She could have an operation, but the success would be very doubtful.”

“And that she will not consent to?”

“She has not yet.”

“How long?”

“Oh, she may live for years, but she suffers horribly, and she will suffer more.”

“And you say he does not know?”

“No.”

“Why, look here, Robert, dare you assume the responsibility?  What will he say when he finds out that you have kept it from him?”

“I don’t care,” said Robert.  “I will not break an oath exacted by a woman in such straits as that, and I don’t see what good it could do to tell him.”

“He might persuade her to have the operation.”

“His mere existence is persuasion enough, if she is to be persuaded.  And I hope she may consent before long.  She has seemed a little more comfortable lately, too.”

“I suppose sometimes those hideous things go away as mysteriously as they come,” said Risley.

“Yes,” replied Robert.  “Going back to our first subject—­”

Risley laughed.  “Here she is coming,” he said.

In fact, at that moment they came abreast the street that led to the factories, and the six-o’clock whistle was just dying away in a long reverberation, and the workmen pouring out of the doors and down the stairs.  Ellen had moved quickly, for she had an errand at the grocery-store before she went home.  She was going to get some oysters for a hot stew for supper, of which her father was very fond.  She had a little oyster-can in her hand when she met the two gentlemen.  She had grown undeniably thinner since summer, but she was charming.  Her short black skirt and her coarse gray jacket fitted her as well as if they had been tailor-made.  There was nothing tawdry or slatternly about her.  She looked every inch a lady, even with the drawback of an oyster-can, and mittens instead of gloves.

Both Risley and Robert raised their hats, and Ellen bowed.  She did not smile, but her face contracted curiously, and her color obviously paled.  Risley looked at Robert after they had passed.