uppose
she did not come back! But she must--there was the baby--their baby!

For the first time, the thought of it gave him unalloyed satisfaction.
He left the door, and, after drinking a glass to steady him, flung
himself down on the sofa in the drawing-room. And while he lay there,
the brandy warm within him, he thought: 'I will turn over a new leaf;
give up drink, give up everything, send the baby into the country,
take Gyp to Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Rome--anywhere out of this England,
anywhere, away from that father of hers and all these stiff, dull folk!
She will like that--she loves travelling!' Yes, they would be happy!
Delicious nights--delicious days--air that did not weigh you down and
make you feel that you must drink--real inspiration--real music! The
acrid wood-smoke scent of Paris streets, the glistening cleanness of the
Thiergarten, a serenading song in a Florence back street, fireflies in
the summer dusk at Sorrento--he had intoxicating memories of them all!
Slowly the warmth of the brandy died away, and, despite the heat, he
felt chill and shuddery. He shut his eyes, thinking to sleep till she
came in. But very soon he opened them, because--a thing usual with him
of late--he saw such ugly things--faces, vivid, changing as he
looked, growing ugly and uglier, becoming all holes--holes--horrible
holes--Corruption--matted, twisted, dark human-tree-roots of faces!
Horrible! He opened his eyes, for when he did that, they always went. It
was very silent. No sound from above. No sound of the dogs. He would go
up and see the baby.

While he was crossing the hall, there came a ring. He opened the door
himself. A telegram! He tore the envelope.

"Gyp and the baby are with me letter follows.--WINTON."

He gave a short laugh, shut the door in the boy's face, and ran
up-stairs; why--heaven knew! There was nobody there now! Nobody! Did it
mean that she had really left him--was not coming back? He stopped by
the side of Gyp's bed, and flinging himself forward, lay across it,
burying his face. And he sobbed, as men will, unmanned by drink. Had he
lost her? Never to see her eyes closing and press his lips against them!
Never to soak his senses in her loveliness! He leaped up, with the
tears still wet on his face. Lost her? Absurd! That calm, prim, devilish
Englishman, her father--he was to blame--he had worked it all--stealing
the baby!

He went down-stairs and drank some brandy. It steadied him a little.
What s