Mr. Carrisford sat and bit his nails as he looked into the glowing bed of coals in the grate.
"Do you suppose," he said slowly, after a pause—"do you think it is possible that the other child—the child I never cease thinking of, I believe—could be—could possibly be reduced to any such condition as the poor little soul next door?"
Mr. Carmichael looked at him uneasily. He knew that the worst thing the man could do for himself, for his reason and his health, was to begin to think in this particular way of this particular subject.