ne."

"You keep on thinking of him as a child--a child--nothing but a child.
Wait till Nicky has children of his own. Then you'll know."

"They would be rather darlings, Nicky's children," Frances said.

"So would Veronica's."

"Ver-onica?"

You needn't be frightened. Nicky's affection for Ronny is purely
paternal."

"I'm not frightened," said Frances. But she left the room. She did not
care for the turn the talk had taken. Besides, she wanted Vera to see
that she was not afraid to leave her alone with Anthony.

"I'm glad Frances has gone," said Vera, "because I want to talk to you.
You'd never have known each other if it hadn't been for me. She couldn't
have married you. It was I who saw you both through."

He assented.

"And you said if there was ever anything you could do for me--You
haven't by any chance forgotten?"

"I have not."

"Well, if anything should happen to me--"

"But, my dear girl, what _should_ happen to you?"

"Things _do_ happen, Anthony."

"Yes, but how about Bartie?"

"That's it. Supposing we separated."

"Good Heavens, you're not contemplating _that_, are you?"

"I'm not contemplating anything. But Bartie isn't very easy to live
with, is he?"

"No, he's not. He never was. All the same--"

Bartie was impossible. Between the diseases he had and thought he hadn't
and the diseases he hadn't and thought he had, he made life miserable
for himself and other people. He was a jealous egoist; he had the morbid
coldness of the neurotic, and Vera was passionate. She ought never to
have married him. All the same--"

"All the same I shall stick to Bartie as long as it's possible. And as
long as it's possible Bartie'll stick to me. But, if anything happens I
want you to promise that you'll take Ronny."

"You must get Frances to promise."

"She'll do anything you ask her to, Anthony."

When Frances came into the room again Vera was crying.

And so Frances promised.

"'London Bridge is broken down
(_Ride over My Lady Leigh_!)

* * * * *

"'Build it up with stones so strong--

* * * * *

"'Build it up with gold so fine'"--

It was twenty to eight and Ronny had not so much as begun to say Good
night. She was singing her sons to spin out the time.

"'London Bridge--'"

"That'll do, Ronny, it's time you were in bed."

There was no need for her to linger and draw out her caresses, no need