Cassandra paused from sheer inability to think what feeling dominated. She felt neither glad nor sorry, interested nor surprised; nothing but a curious blankness, as if a veil had been dropped over the scene of life. Five minutes ago, two minutes ago, she had been tingling with vitality, now she was numb, and found it an effort to collect her thoughts. For once Bernard's lack of observation was a gain. He strode along the terrace with hands thrust into his pockets, smiling in agreeable reminiscence of club-room gossip. "Rather a stiff thing in mothers-in-law,--Mrs Mallison, what? Don't envy him the connection. Best thing he can do to cut away to a distance. But the girl's all right. Fine buxom creature. Got her head screwed on all right. Just the wife he needs. Nice fellow, but inclined to be fanciful,--the sort of man one could imagine taking up any mad scheme, if he were left on his own. Miss Teresa will stop that nonsense. She's got a partic-u-larly keen look out for number one. Ought to have fine children too. Just the type to go in for an annual baby without turning a hair." Cassandra's look was frigid. "I think we may leave that. It is hardly the time--" "Lord bless my soul, what else is she _for_!" cried the Squire loudly. "What is any woman for, if it comes to that? If more of them did it, there would be less talk of nerves and nonsense. The modern woman is too careful of herself to be burdened with a family, and what's the consequence? I ask you what's the consequence? Are they any healthier than their mothers before them? Are they as healthy? Damned sight more satisfactory work looking after a nursery, than gambling in bridge clubs every afternoon. Too squeamish nowadays even to talk of 'em, it appears!" Through the roughness of the man's voice there sounded a note of pain which pierced through the wife's torpor. He would have liked a nursery full of his own, and had grieved over the fate which made it impossible. Cassandra knew it, and admired the reticence with which he kept his disappointment to himself, never allowing it to escape in so many words. She was the more remorseful as the disappointment was not mutual. She had hoped so much, given so much for her son, had suffered so bitter a disappointment from his lack of response, that she had no wish for another child. But she was sorry for Bernard. She stretched out her hand and put it through his arm, leaning against him with unusual intimacy.