I will tell Mary how it is. She can be trusted, I
am sure she can. She would do anything for me. She knows that father was
not thinking of a man such as you. It would be cruelly wrong if I lost
everything. I will tell her, and she will help me. Scarcely any one
comes to the house, as it is; and I will pretend to have bad health, and
shut myself up. And then, when the time comes, Mary will go away with
me, and--and the child shall be taken care of by some people we can
trust to be kind to it. Horace is going to live in lodgings; and Mrs.
Damerel, I am sure, won't come to see me again; and I can get rid of
other people. The Barmbys shall think I am sulking about the will; I'm
sure they think already that I dislike them because of it. Let them
think it; I will refuse, presently, to see them at all. It's only a few
months. If I tell people I'm not well, nobody will feel surprised if I
go away for a month or two--now--soon. Mary would go with me, of course.
I might go for December and January. Father didn't mean I was never to
have change of air. Then there would be February and March at home. And
then I might go away again till near the end of May. I'm sure we can
manage it.'

She stopped, breathless. Tarrant, who had listened with averted face,
turned and spoke judicially.

'There's one thing you're forgetting, Nancy. Do you propose that we
shall never acknowledge the child? Remember that even if you were bold
enough, after our second marriage, to acknowledge it in the face of
scandal--that wouldn't be safe. Any one, if suspicion is aroused, can
find out when we were actually married.'

'We can't think of that. The child may not live.'

Tarrant moved, and the movement startled Nancy. It meant that she had
pained him, perhaps made him think of her with repugnance.

'I hardly know what I am saying. You know I don't wish that. But all I
can think of now is to keep you near me. I can't bear to be separated
from you. I love you so much more than you love me.'

'Let me just tell you what I had in mind, Nancy. Supposing the secret
can be kept, we must eventually live abroad, that is to say, if our
child is not to grow up a stranger to us, which neither you nor I could
wish. Now, at Nassau, the capital of the Bahamas, a lot of Americans
always spend the winter. If I made acquaintances among them, it might be
a very useful step, it would be preparing for the future.'

To Nancy this sounded far from convincing. She argued ag