'Mother's sick,' Laetitia told her father that night. She was at the corner to meet him when he got off the electric car, at half-past six. He had had his coat off when he left the car, it was such a hot day, and he carried his straw hat in his hand. But as soon as he reached the sidewalk he set down his brown leather hand-bag on the curbing, and put his hat and coat on again. Then wiped his face carefully with his handkerchief. He never went home to Sheilah, even after all these years, without thinking how he looked.
'Sick?' he repeated after Laetitia, and a frightened expression crossed his face. He flushed faintly. 'What's the matter?'
'I don't know. She just doesn't seem to care about anything, and asked me to get supper. She's lying down on the bed. I wanted to go to the Movies to-night, and she says I can, but I won't if she doesn't want me to.'
Felix said dully, 'It must be the heat. She works too hard,' and he leaned and picked up his bag, and the frightened look gave way to that expression of long-continued acquiescence that some men wear,
