There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. Upon this grateful animal she lavished that affection which was subtly repelled by its lawful object. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. Just as I might have killed another, if he had come out. But pathologically, he is still on the edge. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. One thing may be a necessary collateral of the others. It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame.
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