interspersed among them.

One of these, with a well-kept lawn, daintily adorned with the newest
pines and ornamental shrubs, and with sheets of glass glaring in the
sun from the gardens at the back, was the house that poor Mr. and
Mrs. Ward had bought and beautified; 'because it was so much better
for the children to be out of the town.' The tears sprang into
Mary's eyes at the veiled windows, and the unfeeling contrast of the
spring glow of flowering thorn, lilac, laburnum, and, above all, the
hard, flashing brightness of the glass; but tears were so unlike
Ethel that Mary always was ashamed of them, and disposed of them
quietly.

They rang, but in vain. Two of the servants were ill, and all in
confusion; and after waiting a few moments among the azaleas in the
glass porch, Dr. May admitted himself, and led the way up-stairs with
silent footfalls, Mary following with breath held back. A voice from
an open door called, 'Is that Dr. May?' and he paused to look in and
say, 'I'll be with you in one minute, Henry; how is Leonard?'

'No worse, they tell me; I say, Dr. May--'

'One moment;' and turning back to Mary, he pointed along a dark
passage. 'Up there, first door to the right. You can't mistake;'
then disappeared, drawing the door after him.

Much discomfited, Mary nevertheless plunged bravely on, concluding
'there' to be up a narrow, uncarpeted stair, with a nursery wicket at
the top, in undoing which, she was relieved of all doubts and
scruples by a melancholy little duet from within. 'Mary, Mary, we