" He looked out at the
storm-beaten river.
Winifred came up behind him and put a
hand on his shoulder. "That's what you
always say, poor Bartley! At bottom you really
like all these things. Can't you remember that?"
He put his arm about her. "All the same,
life runs smoothly enough with some people,
and with me it's always a messy sort of patchwork.
It's like the song; peace is where I am not.
How can you face it all with so much fortitude?"
She looked at him with that clear gaze
which Wilson had so much admired, which
he had felt implied such high confidence and
fearless pride. "Oh, I faced that long ago,
when you were on your first bridge, up at old
Allway. I knew then that your paths were
not to be paths of peace, but I decided that
I wanted to follow them."
Bartley and his wife stood silent for a
long time; the fire crackled in the grate,
the rain beat insistently upon the windows,
and the sleepy Angora looked up at them curiously.
Presently Thomas made a discreet sound at the door.
"Shall Edward bring down your trunks, sir?"
"Yes; they are ready. Tell him not to forget
the big portfolio on the study table."
Thomas withdrew, closing the door softly.
Bartley turned away from his wife, still
holding her hand. "It never gets any easier,
Winifred."
They both started at the sound of the
carriage on the pavement outside. Alexander
sat down and leaned his head on his hand.
His wife bent over him.
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