never been able to feel that SHE was
living on. SHE lived in Gyp. And now if Gyp--! Death--your own--no great
matter! But--for her! The wind was dropping with the darkness. He got up
and drew the curtains.

It was seven o'clock when the doctor came down into the hall, and stood
rubbing his freshly washed hands before opening the study door. Winton
was still sitting before the fire, motionless, shrunk into his fur coat.
He raised himself a little and looked round dully.

The doctor's face puckered, his eyelids drooped half-way across his
bulging eyes; it was his way of smiling. "Nicely," he said; "nicely--a
girl. No complications."

Winton's whole body seemed to swell, his lips opened, he raised his
hand. Then, the habit of a lifetime catching him by the throat, he
stayed motionless. At last he got up and said:

"Glass of port, doctor?"

The doctor spying at him above the glass thought: 'This is "the
fifty-two." Give me "the sixty-eight"--more body.'

After a time, Winton went upstairs. Waiting in the outer room he had a
return of his cold dread. "Perfectly successful--the patient died from
exhaustion!" The tiny squawking noise that fell on his ears entirely
failed to reassure him. He cared nothing for that new being. Suddenly he
found Betty just behind him, her bosom heaving horribly.

"What is it, woman? Don't!"

She had leaned against his shoulder, appearing to have lost all sense of
right and wrong, and, out of her sobbing, gurgled:

"She looks so lovely--oh dear, she looks so lovely!"

Pushing her abruptly from him, Winton peered in through the just-opened
door. Gyp was lying extremely still, and very white; her eyes, very
large, very dark, were fastened on her baby. Her face wore a kind of
wonder. She did not see Winton, who stood stone-quiet, watching, while
the nurse moved about her business behind a screen. This was the first
time in his life that he had seen a mother with her just-born baby. That
look on her face--gone right away somewhere, right away--amazed him. She
had never seemed to like children, had said she did not want a child.
She turned her head and saw him. He went in. She made a faint motion
toward the baby, and her eyes smiled. Winton looked at that swaddled
speckled mite; then, bending down, he kissed her hand and tiptoed away.

At dinner he drank champagne, and benevolence towards all the world
spread in his being. Watching the smoke of his cigar wreathe about him,
he thought: 'Must