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Suddenly Muriel looked up and saw his expression. Hers grew wild.
"You--did you know it would be?" she stammered.
"There, there!" said Stainton, stroking her hair.
She drew herself free.
"You did know!"
Stainton prepared to yield to the natural law.
"Of course, I didn't _know_, dear. How could I be certain?"
"Oh, but you were, you were!" she cried. "You knew. And I didn't. I didn't know! I didn't know! And you did--_you_!"
"Dearest," said Stainton. He tried to take her hand.
She was sitting straight up in bed, looking down at him, her hair falling over her nightgown.
"And you told me I wouldn't----You told me it wouldn't be!" she accused.
"I?"
"Yes. Yes, you did. You said there would be nothing to worry about.
Those were your very words, Jim."
"Well, but, dear, there won't be anything to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about!" she repeated. She put her fingers to her temples. "Not for _you_, of course!"
Stainton was hurt: "Dearie, you know that if I could----"
"And anyhow," she interrupted, "you didn't mean that. You meant me to think what I did think."
He felt that, in a sense, she was right: he had meant at least to quiet her, to divert her thoughts. He was ashamed of that. He sought to comfort her.
"Perhaps you are mistaken," he said.
"No, no!" she said. She got up and, slipperless, began to pace the room.
Stainton struggled to his elbow.
"But, dearie," he said, seeking relief in logic, "you must have known that when a girl married, she must expect--it was expected of her--it was her duty----"
She continued to walk, her head bent.
"Yes," she answered; "but I didn't know she would have to right away, or when she didn't want to, or----"
Genuinely amazed and genuinely pained, Stainton swung his legs from the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped between his knees, his mouth agape.
"Sweetheart," he asked, "don't you love me?"
"Of course, I love you, Jim."--She was still walking.
"Then what did you think marriage was for?"
She stopped before him. "I thought it was for love," she said; and, crumpling at his feet, put her face upon his knees.
He bent over her, stroking her hair, calling her by the names that they had invented for each other, waiting for the natural law to a.s.sert itself again and trying, meanwhile, to alleviate her apprehensions.
"Perhaps, after all, you are mistaken."
This was the burden of his consolation.
Nevertheless, she was not mistaken, and the succeeding days proved it.
Nor was the natural law swift in a.s.serting itself.
"Don't you think," he once tried to urge the law, "that it would be beautiful if we should have a little baby?"
"_I_ sha'n't be beautiful!" she wailed. "I shall lose my looks. I----"
"Muriel!"
"Yes, I shall. I know. I have seen it--on the street--lots of places. I shall grow--I shall----And all my lovely clothes!--Oh!"--She broke off and hid her eyes--"I shall grow vulgar looking and horrid!"
They were walking along a country lane, and Stainton glanced about nervously, fearing that her words, spoken in a tone altogether unrestrained, would certainly be heard by more ears than his own. The road, however, was empty. He drew her aside to a spot where the woods met the lane and where, a few paces to the left of the lane, the trees hid them. He took her into his arms.
"Muriel," he said, "if I could go through this for you, I would; you know that."
"I know you can't go through it for me," she wept, "and so it's easy enough for you to say."
"No," said Jim, "I can't go through it for you, and so you see, it must be G.o.d's will that it should be as it is to be."
She was worn out by the days of worry, but she made one more appeal.
"Jim," she said, "can't you do something else for me?"
He knitted his brows.
"Something else?" he wondered. "I can love you; I can back you up with all the love of my body and brain and soul. You may always count on that, sweetheart."
"But"--her eyes looked straight into his--"can't you _do_ something?"
He understood. He fell back a step, his face grey.
"Muriel!" he whispered.
"I've read of such things in the papers," she said.