left to hurt
him with. "And another time perhaps you will know better than to say for
my husband what he is perfectly competent to say for himself."

"You are quite right," Lionel said quietly; "another time I shall know
better." The rain against the windows sounded again; she had not heard
it before.

He did not come back to say good-by. She heard him talking to Winn in
the hall, the dogcart drove up, and then she saw him for the last time,
his fine, clear-cut profile, his cap dragged over his forehead, his eyes
hard, as they were when he had looked at her. He must have known she
stood there at the window watching, but he never looked back. She had
expected a terrible parting, but never a parting as terrible as this.
Mercifully she had kept her head; it was all she had kept.

CHAPTER VII

It was shortly after Lionel's departure that Estelle realized there was
nothing between her and the Indian frontier except the drawing-room
sofa. She fixed herself as firmly on this shelter as a limpet takes hold
upon a rock. People were extremely kind and sympathetic, and Winn
himself turned over a new leaf. He was gentle and considerate to her,
and offered to read aloud to her in the evenings.

Nothing shook her out of this condition. The baby arrived, unavailingly
as an incentive to health, and not at all the kind of baby Estelle had
pictured. He was almost from his first moments a thorough Staines. He
was never very kissable, and was anxious as soon as possible to get on
to his own feet. At eight months he crawled rapidly across the carpet
with a large musical-box suspended from his mouth by its handle; at ten
he could walk. He tore all his lawn frocks on Winn's spurs, screamed
with joy at his father's footsteps, and always preferred knees to laps.

His general attitude towards women was hostility, he looked upon them as
unfortunate obstacles in the path of adventure, and howled dismally when
they caressed him. He had more tolerance for his mother who seemed to
him an object provided by Providence in connection with a sofa, on
purpose for him to climb over.

Her maternal instinct went so far as to allow him to climb over it twice
a day for short intervals. After all he had gained her two years.

Estelle lay on the sofa one autumn afternoon at four o'clock, with her
eyes firmly shut. She was aware that Winn had come in, and was very
inconsiderately tramping to and fro in heavy boots. He seldom entered
the drawing-