you tell me at once what the news is?"

"I _did_ tell you. An engagement, of course. Peignton's engagement.
With the fair Teresa. For goodness' sake, don't pretend to be surprised
to hear. You notice precious little, but you must have noticed that. I
told you myself it was coming on."

"Of course you did. I remember perfectly. I am very--"

Cassandra paused from sheer inability to think what feeling dominated.
She felt neither glad nor sorry, interested nor surprised; nothing but a
curious blankness, as if a veil had been dropped over the scene of life.
Five minutes ago, two minutes ago, she had been tingling with vitality,
now she was numb, and found it an effort to collect her thoughts.

For once Bernard's lack of observation was a gain. He strode along the
terrace with hands thrust into his pockets, smiling in agreeable
reminiscence of club-room gossip.

"Rather a stiff thing in mothers-in-law,--Mrs Mallison, what? Don't
envy him the connection. Best thing he can do to cut away to a
distance. But the girl's all right. Fine buxom creature. Got her head
screwed on all right. Just the wife he needs. Nice fellow, but
inclined to be fanciful,--the sort of man one could imagine taking up
any mad scheme, if he were left on his own. Miss Teresa will stop that
nonsense. She's got a partic-u-larly keen look out for number one.
Ought to have fine children too. Just the type to go in for an annual
baby without turning a hair."

Cassandra's look was frigid.

"I think we may leave that. It is hardly the time--"

"Lord bless my soul, what else is she _for_!" cried the Squire loudly.
"What is any woman for, if it comes to that? If more of them did it,
there would be less talk of nerves and nonsense. The modern woman is
too careful of herself to be burdened with a family, and what's the
consequence? I ask you what's the consequence? Are they any healthier
than their mothers before them? Are they as healthy? Damned sight more
satisfactory work looking after a nursery, than gambling in bridge clubs
every afternoon. Too squeamish nowadays even to talk of 'em, it
appears!"

Through the roughness of the man's voice there sounded a note of pain
which pierced through the wife's torpor. He would have liked a nursery
full of his own, and had grieved over the fate which made it impossible.
Cassandra knew it, and admired the reticence with which he kept his
disappointment to himself, never allowing it to esc