s anguish on the thought of the words he had very
nearly said, also of the words he hadn't said, and of the things he
hadn't done for her. Casting about for these, he found that he hadn't
taken her to Earl's Court or the Coliseum half as often as he might. He
had been wrapped up in himself, that's what he had been; a selfish, low
brute. He felt that there was nothing he wouldn't do for Vi, if only
God would spare her.

But God wouldn't. He wasn't sparing her now. God had proved that he was
capable of anything. It was incredible to Ransome that Violet should
live through that night. He wouldn't believe his mother and the doctor
and the nurse when they told him that everything was as it should be. He
knew that they were lying; they must be; it wasn't possible that any
woman would go through that and live.

All this Ransome thought as he sat in the front parlor under the little
creaking room. He _would_ sit there where he could hear every sound,
where it was almost as if he was by her bed and looking on.

And he wouldn't believe it was all over when at midnight they came and
told him, and when he saw Violet lying in her mortal apathy, and when he
kissed her poor drawn face. He couldn't believe that Violet's face
wouldn't look like that forever, that it wouldn't keep forever its
dreadful memory, the resentment that smoldered still under its white
apathy.

* * * * *

For there could be no doubt that that was Violet's attitude--resentment,
as of some wrong that had been done her. He didn't wonder at it. He
resented the whole business himself.

It was a pity, though, that she didn't take more kindly to the baby,
seeing that, after all, the poor little thing was innocent, it didn't
know what it had done.

Ranny would not have permitted himself this reflection but that a whole
fortnight had passed and Violet had not died. Ranny's fatherhood was
perturbed by Violet's indifference to the baby. He spoke of it to the
doctor, and suggested weakness as a possible explanation.

"Weakness?" The doctor stared at him and smiled faintly. "What
weakness?"

"I mean," said Ranny, "after all she's gone through."

The doctor put his hand on Ranny's shoulder. "My dear boy, if half the
women went through as little and came out of it as well--"

Ranny flared up.

"I like that--your trying to make out she didn't suffer. Tortures
weren't _in_ it. How'd you like--"

But the doctor shook his head.

"We