'That's Baird's idea. That it's every one's job to be happy. Can't I help you in your job a little? I would be so glad if I could.'
'How could you?'
'Oh, just by seeing you occasionally. Being friends. Talking about books and poetry, andpine trees,' he smiled, 'and other things we both love, once in a while.'
She considered it for a moment, then shook her head.
'No, Roger.' She called him Roger now on rare occasions. It always gave him a thrill, all out of proportion to the cause for it. 'I don't think Dr. Baird would advise it,' she said, her cool little head ruling her with the autocracy of a merciless little queen. 'I don't think seeing you would help me to be a better mother and wife. Do you? And that is my job, too. That, in fact, is my real job. Being happy is just one of the indirect results. Not the goal. Besides,' she added, 'there's no place for you to see me. I live, you see, in a sort of tenement.' She said it with a toss of her head as if it was rather of a joke.
'I think I love you more for that,' Roger exclaimed in a low voice.
She didn't take him too seriously. 'That's nice of you,' she smiled. 'It's a compensation. Dr. Baird says there are always compensations. Oh,' she
