Some
one with endless stores of love and sympathy and compassion that have
never found an outlet yet, but gone on accumulating and accumulating
unexpressed.'
'I see, yes.' Though he really did not 'see' a bit. 'But who is there
like that here? You'll have to invent him.' He remembered his own
thought that some principal role was vacant in his Children's Fairy
Play. How queer it all was! He stared. 'Who is there?' he repeated.
'No one--now. I shall bring her, though.'
'_Her_!' exclaimed Rogers with surprise. 'You mean a woman?'
'A childless woman,' came the soft reply. 'A woman with a million
children--all unborn.' But Rogers did not see the expression of the
face. His cousin was on the landing. The door closed softly on the
words. The steps went fumbling down the stairs, and presently he heard
the door below close too. The key was turned in it.
'A childless woman!' The phrase rang on long after he had gone. What
an extraordinary idea! 'Bring her here' indeed! Could his cousin mean
that some such woman might read his story and come to claim the
position, play the vacant role? No, nothing so literal surely. The
idea was preposterous. He had heard it said that imaginative folk,
writers, painters, musicians, all had a touch of lunacy in them
somewhere. He shrugged his shoulders.
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