His white face caught attention. “Move along, guv'nor,” some one shouted. A man took him by the arm and led up a dark side street. He turned his eyes and saw that the man was Maradick. II The elder man felt that the boy was trembling from head to foot. “What's the matter, Westcott? Anything I can do for you?” Peter seemed to take him in slowly, and then, with a great effort, to pull himself together. “What, you--Maradick? Where was I? I'm afraid I've been making a fool of myself....” A church clock struck somewhere in the distance. “Hullo, I say, what's that? That's eleven. I must get back, I ought to be at home--” “I'll come with you--” Maradick hailed a hansom and helped Peter into it. For a moment there was silence--then Maradick said-- “I hope everything's all right, Westcott? Your wife?” Peter spoke as though he were in a dream. “I've been waiting there all the afternoon--she's been suffering--My God!... It got on my nerves.... She's so young--they oughtn't to hurt her like that.” He covered his face with his hands. “I know. I felt like that when my first child came. It's terrible, awful. And then it's over--all the pain--and it's magnificent, glorious--and then--later--it's so commonplace that you cannot believe that it was ever either awful or magnificent. Fix your mind on the glorious part of it, Westcott. Think of this time to-morrow when your wife will be so proud, so happy--you'll both be so proud, so happy, that you'll never know anything in life like it.” “Yes, yes, I know--of course it's sure to be all right--but I suppose this waiting's got on my nerves. There was a fellow in the Park just broken his wife's head in--and then everything was so quiet. I could almost hear her crying, right away in her room.” He stopped a moment and then went on. “It's what I've always wanted--always to have a boy. And, by Jove, he'll be wonderful! I tell you he shall be--We'll be such pals!” He broke off suddenly--“You haven't a boy?” “No, mine are both girls. Getting on now--they'll soon be coming out. I should like to have had a boy--” Maradick sighed. “Are they an awful lot to you?” “No--I don't suppose they are. I should have understood a boy better,--but they're good girls. I'm proud of them in a way--but I'm out so much, you see.” Peter faced the contrast. Here this middle-aged man, with his two girls--and here too he, Peter, with his agonising, flaming trial--to slip, so soon, into dull commonplace? “But didn't you--if you can look so far--didn't you, when the first child came, funk it? Your responsibility I mean. All the things one's--one's ancestors--it's frightening enough for oneself but to hand it on--” “It's nothing to do with oneself--one's used, that's all. The child will be on its own legs, thrusting you away before you know where you are. It _will_ want to claim its responsibilities--ancestors and all--” Peter said nothing--Maradick went on: