other's lap,
suddenly raised her little voice again. Gyp said:

"Betty, I believe something hurts her arm. She cries the moment she's
touched there. Is there a pin or anything? Just see. Take her things
off. Oh--look!"

Both the tiny arms above the elbow were circled with dark marks, as if
they had been squeezed by ruthless fingers. The two women looked at each
other in horror; and under her breath Gyp said: "He!"

She had flushed crimson; her eyes filled but dried again almost at once.
And, looking at her face, now gone very pale, and those lips tightened to
a line, Betty stopped in her outburst of ejaculation. When they had
wrapped the baby's arm in remedies and cotton-wool, Gyp went into her
bedroom, and, throwing herself down on her bed, burst into a passion of
weeping, smothering it deep in her pillow.

It was the crying of sheer rage. The brute! Not to have control enough
to stop short of digging his claws into that precious mite! Just because
the poor little thing cried at that cat's stare of his! The brute! The
devil! And he would come to her and whine about it, and say: "My Gyp, I
never meant--how should I know I was hurting? Her crying was so--Why
should she cry at me? I was upset! I wasn't thinking!" She could hear
him pleading and sighing to her to forgive him. But she would not--not
this time! He had hurt a helpless thing once too often. Her fit of
crying ceased, and she lay listening to the tick of the clock, and
marshalling in her mind a hundred little evidences of his malevolence
toward her baby--his own baby. How was it possible? Was he really going
mad? And a fit of such chilly shuddering seized her that she crept under
the eider down to regain warmth. In her rage, she retained enough sense
of proportion to understand that he had done this, just as he had
insulted Monsieur Harmost and her father--and others--in an ungovernable
access of nerve-irritation; just as, perhaps, one day he would kill
someone. But to understand this did not lessen her feeling. Her baby!
Such a tiny thing! She hated him at last; and she lay thinking out the
coldest, the cruellest, the most cutting things to say. She had been too
long-suffering.

But he did not come in that evening; and, too upset to eat or do
anything, she went up to bed at ten o'clock. When she had undressed, she
stole across to the nursery; she had a longing to have the baby with
her--a feeling that to leave her was not safe. She