Why bother about such a thing as this when poor Sylvia would really be worried over his, Henry's, return to his old, humble vocation?
For Henry, as he sat beside the window that pleasant afternoon, was becoming more and more convinced it must happen.

It seemed to him that his longing was gradually strengthening into a purpose which he could not overcome.

It seemed to him that every flutelike note of a bird in the pleasance outside served to make this purpose more unassailable, as if every sweet flower-breath and every bee-hum, every drawing of his wife's shining needle through the white garment which she was mending, all served to render his purpose so settled a thing that any change in it was as impossible as growth in a granite ledge.

That very day Henry had been approached by the superintendent of Lawson & Fisher's, where he had worked, and told that his place, which had been temporarily filled, was vacant and ready for him.

He had said that he must consider the matter, but he had known in his heart that the matter admitted of no consideration.