althiest women I have ever
attended," Doctor Mayson added; "superb health. It's a pleasure to see
any one like that. I look after so many neurotic women in London. They
give themselves up for lost when they are confronted with a perfectly
natural crisis. Mrs. Leith is all courage and self-possession."

"But then why shouldn't I see her?"

"Well, she seems to have an extraordinary sense of duty towards the
child that's coming. She thinks you might be less calm than she is."

"But I'm perfectly calm."

Doctor Mayson smiled.

"D'you know, it's really ever so much better for us men to keep right
out of the way in such moments as these. It's the kindest thing we can
do."

"Very well. I'll do it of course."

"I never go near my own wife when she's like this."

Dion stared into the fire.

"Have you many children?"

"Eleven," remarked the bass voice comfortably. "But I married very
young, before I left Guy's. Now I'll go up again. You needn't be the
least alarmed."

"I'm not," said Dion bruskly.

"Capital!"

And Doctor Mayson went off, not treading with any precaution. It was
quite obvious that his belief in his patient was genuine.

Eleven children! Well, some people were prepared to take any risks and
to face any responsibilities. Was it very absurd to find in the coming
of one child a tremendous event? Really, Doctor Mayson had almost
succeeded in making Dion feel a great fool. Just another child in the
world--crying, dribbling, feebly trying to grasp the atmosphere; another
child to cut its first tooth, with shrieks, to have whooping-cough,
chicken-pox, rose rash and measles; another child to eat of the fruit of
the tree; another child to combat and love and suffer and die. No,
damn it, the matter was important. Doctor Mayson and his rosy face were
unmeaning. He might have eleven, or a hundred and eleven children, but
he had no imagination.

Dion shut himself into his room, sat down in a big armchair, lit his
pipe and thought about the Clarke case. He had just told Doctor Mayson
a white lie. He was determined not to think about his Rosamund: he dared
not do that; so his mind fastened on the Clarke case. Almost ferociously
he flung himself upon it, called upon the unknown Mrs. Clarke, the woman
whom he had never seen to banish from him his Rosamund, to interpose
between her and him. For Rosamund was inevitably suffering, and if he
thought about that suffering his deep anxiety, his pity, his yearning
woul