With an instant clenching of his teeth he pulled down the blinds upon that desolating view. III With teeth still clenched he set himself to build up his house again. Clare was very quiet and submissive during those first weeks. Her little figure looked helpless and appealing in its deep black; she was prettier than she had ever been in her life before. People said, “Poor Mrs. Westcott, she feels the loss of her baby so dreadfully”--and they didn't think about Peter. Indeed some people thought him callous. “Mr. Westcott seemed to be so fond of the child. Now I really believe he's forgotten all about him.” Bobby was the only person in the world who knew how Peter suffered. Clare was, indeed, after a time, reassured. Peter, after all, seemed not to mind. Did he mind anything? He was so often glum and silent that really you couldn't tell. Clare herself had been frightened on that night when the baby had died. She had probably never in all her life felt a more genuine emotion than she had known when she knelt by Peter's side and went to sleep in his arms. She was quite ready to feel that emotion again would Peter but allow her. But no. He showed no emotion himself and expected no one else to show any, for he was ready to share it but in her heart of hearts she longed to fling away from her this emotional atmosphere. She had loved the baby--of course she had loved it. But she had always known that something would happen to it--always. If Peter would insist on having those horrid Cornishmen.... At heart she connected that dreadful day when those horrible men had played about in the nursery with baby's death. Of course it was enough to kill any baby. So, ultimately, it all came back to Peter's fault. Clare found real satisfaction in the thought. Meanwhile she emphatically stated her desire to be happy again. She stated it always in Peter's absence, feeling that he would, in no way, understand her. “It can't help poor dear little Stephen that we should go on being melancholy and doing nothing. That's only morbid, isn't it, mother?” Mrs. Rossiter entirely agreed, as indeed she always agreed with anything that Clare suggested. “The dear thing does look lovely in black, though,” she confided to Mrs. Galleon. “Mr. Cardillac couldn't take his eyes off her yesterday at luncheon.”