Edith Wharton

The Fruit of the Tree Edith Wharton

WHEN Justine Brent emerged from the Hope Hospital the October dusk had fallen and the widesuburban street was almost dark, except when the illuminated bulk of an electric car flashed byunder the maples. She crossed the tracks and approached the narrower thoroughfare where Amherst awaited her. Hehung back a moment, and she was amused to see that he failed to identify the uniformed nurse withthe girl in her trim dark dress, soberly complete in all its accessories, who advanced to him, smilingunder her little veil."Thank you," he said as he turned and walked beside her. "Is this your way?""I am staying in Oak Street. But it's just as short to go by Maplewood Avenue.""Yes; and quieter."For a few yards they walked on in silence, their long steps falling naturally into time, thoughAmherst was somewhat taller than his companion. At length he said: "I suppose you know nothing about the relation between Hope Hospital and theWestmore Mills.""Only that the hospital was endowed by one of the Westmore family.""Yes; an old Miss Hope, a great-aunt of Westmore's. But there is more than that between them-allkinds of subterranean passages." He paused, and began again: "For instance, Dr. Disbrow marriedthe sister of our manager's wife.""Your chief at the mills?""Yes," he said with a slight grimace. "So you see, if Truscomb-the manager-thinks one of themill-hands is only slightly injured, it's natural that his brother-in-law, Dr. Disbrow, should take anoptimistic view of the case.""Natural? I don't know--""Don't you think it's natural that a man should be influenced by his wife?"