Why the devil didn't they come and tell him
something, anything--rather than this silence, this deadly solitude and
waiting? What was that? The front door shutting. Wheels? Had that
hell-hound of an old doctor sneaked off? He started up. There at the
door was Markey, holding in his hand some cards. Winton scanned them.

"Lady Summerhay; Mr. Bryan Summerhay. I said, 'Not at home,' sir."

Winton nodded.

"Well?"

"Nothing at present. You have had no lunch, sir."

"What time is it?"

"Four o'clock."

"Bring in my fur coat and the port, and make the fire up. I want any
news there is."

Markey nodded.

Odd to sit in a fur coat before a fire, and the day not cold! They said
you lived on after death. He had 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. H