2
If time had not been steadily at work performing its gentle cure upon Stephen, he might never have been sorry he had married Stella. But old hopes, old ideals began to reassert themselves. In spite of himself, gradually, slowly, Stephen became interested in his job at the Cataract Mills. More than once that Spring, Stella, coming in from the kitchen of the little apartment after the supper dishes had been put away, found Stephen poring over one of the sheepskin-bound volumes from the bottom shelf of the bookcases he had had built around the living-room, his precious Trollope or Meredith (Lord, what did he find in those old birds?) pushed aside, discarded.
The sheepskin-bound volumes were Stephen's law-books. He told Stella he wanted to satisfy a curiosity he had, as to the legal right or wrong of certain affairs at the Cataract Mills. Stephen was in the Complaint Department at the mills at that time. This curiosity of Stephen's percolated through the man immediately above him, and through the next man, and the next, and the next, and so on to the general manager finally. Once the general manager discovered Stephen, it was every night then that he pored over the law-books.
Stella did not begrudge the late nights Stephen spent with the big volumes.
"Gracious," she had exclaimed, eyes aglint, when Stephen confided to her that the general manager had suggested that he pass his bar examination, so as to be able to assist in the legal end of the busi-
