easy for him. Nothing could move Jerrold from his conviction that
Maisie was cold, that she was incapable of caring for him as Anne cared.
His peace of mind and the freedom of his conscience depended on this
belief. But, in spite of her coldness, Maisie wanted children. He knew
that.

According to Jerrold's code Maisie's children would be an injury to
Anne, a perpetual insult. But Anne would forgive him; she would
understand; she wouldn't want to hurt Maisie.

So he went through with it.

And now he made out that mercifully, incredibly, he was being let off.
He wouldn't have to go on.

He stood by Maisie's bed looking down at her as she lay there. She had
grasped his hands by the wrists, as if to hold back their possible
caress. And her little breathless voice went on, catching itself up and
tripping.

"You won't mind--if I don't let you--come to me?"

"I'm sorry, Maisie. I didn't know you felt like that about it."

"I don't. It isn't because I don't love you. It's just my silly nerves.
I get frightened."

"I know. I know. It'll be all right. I won't bother you."

"Mother said I oughtn't to ask you. She said you wouldn't understand and
it would be too hard for you. _Will_ it?"

"No, of course it won't. I understand perfectly."

He tried to sound like one affectionately resigned, decently renouncing,
not as though he felt this blessedness of relief, absolved from dread,
mercifully and incredibly let off.

But Maisie's sweetness hated to refuse and frustrate; it couldn't bear
to hurt him. She held him tighter. "Jerrold--if it _is_--if you can't
stand it, you mustn't mind about me. You must forget I ever said
anything. It's nothing but nerves."

"I shall be all right. Don't worry."

"You _are_ a darling."

Her grasp slackened. "Please--please go. At once. Quick."

As he went she put her hand to her heart. She could feel the pain
coming. It filled her with an indescribable dread. Every time it came
she thought she should die of it. If only she didn't get so excited;
excitement always brought it on. She held her breath tight to keep it
back.

Ah, it had come. Splinters of glass, sharp splinters of glass, first
pricking, then piercing, then tearing her heart. Her heart closed down
on the splinters of glass, cutting itself at every beat.

She looked under the pillow for the little silver box that held her
pearls of nitrate of amyl. She always had it with her, ready. She
crushed a pearl in her pocket ha