Stainton stroked her blue-black hair. All women were like this, he reflected; it was a law of nature. It was the same law that, in the lower animals, first drove the female to repulse the male and then submit to him. In mankind it began by making the woman dread the accomplishment of her natural destiny and ended by awakening the maternal instinct, seemingly so at variance with its preceding action. Suddenly Muriel looked up and saw his expression. Hers grew wild. "You--did you know it would be?" she stammered. "There, there!" said Stainton, stroking her hair. She drew herself free. "You did know!" Stainton prepared to yield to the natural law. "Of course, I didn't _know_, dear. How could I be certain?" "Oh, but you were, you were!" she cried. "You knew. And I didn't. I didn't know! I didn't know! And you did--_you_!" "Dearest," said Stainton. He tried to take her hand. She was sitting straight up in bed, looking down at him, her hair falling over her nightgown. "And you told me I wouldn't----You told me it wouldn't be!" she accused. "I?" "Yes. Yes, you did. You said there would be nothing to worry about. Those were your very words, Jim." "Well, but, dear, there won't be anything to worry about." "Nothing to worry about!" she repeated. She put her fingers to her temples. "Not for _you_, of course!" Stainton was hurt: "Dearie, you know that if I could----" "And anyhow," she interrupted, "you didn't mean that. You meant me to think what I did think." He felt that, in a sense, she was right: he had meant at least to quiet her, to divert her thoughts. He was ashamed of that. He sought to comfort her. "Perhaps you are mistaken," he said. "No, no!" she said. She got up and, slipperless, began to pace the room. Stainton struggled to his elbow. "But, dearie," he said, seeking relief in logic, "you must have known that when a girl married, she must expect--it was expected of her--it was her duty----" She continued to walk, her head bent. "Yes," she answered; "but I didn't know she would have to right away, or when she didn't want to, or----" Genuinely amazed and genuinely pained, Stainton swung his legs from the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped between his knees, his mouth agape. "Sweetheart," he asked, "don't you love me?" "Of course, I love you, Jim."--She was still walking. "Then what did you think marriage was for?" She stopped before him. "I thought it was for love," she said; and, crumpling at his feet, put her face upon his knees. He bent over her, stroking her hair, calling her by the names that they had invented for each other, waiting for the natural law to assert itself again and trying, meanwhile, to alleviate her apprehensions. "Perhaps, after all, you are mistaken." This was the burden of his consolation. Nevertheless, she was not mistaken, and the succeeding days proved it. Nor was the natural law swift in asserting itself.