Now he was puzzled. His eyes frowned straight into hers. "Then what? Come along, Sally, out with it." She turned her head away. He heard the sound in her throat as she began to form the words. But she could not say it. Then her hands covered her face, for a moment stayed there; at last she took them away and met the beating gaze of his eyes. "If I had a child," she said quickly. His forehead creased, line upon line. He took a deep breath and leant back in his chair. "What do you mean?" he asked. "If I had a child," she repeated, "I shouldn't be lonely then. I should have some one to do all these things for then. I should have something to live for." Traill stood abruptly to his feet. "You're--you're crazy!" he exclaimed. She stood beside him. Her hand stretched out nervously, touching his coat. "No, no, I'm not. I mean it. Can't you see what it would mean to me, here alone, night after night, night after night, no one, absolutely no one but myself." He studied her in amazement. "If it were any other woman than you," he said suddenly, "I should think this was a put-up job to compromise me--a cunning, put-up job. But you! It's amazing! I don't understand it. Why, you'd brand yourself to the whole world. It'd be a mill stone round your neck, not a child." "Don't you think I'm branded plainly enough already? What do you think a man like Devenish thinks of me?" "Oh, Devenish be damned! There are other men than Devenish in the world. Men who know nothing; men who'd be ready to marry you." "Yes, I found one--one who thought me everything--everything till I told him." "You told him?" "Yes." "In the name of God, what for? You must be crazy. What the deuce did you want to tell him for?" "It was the only fair thing to do," she said quietly. "Fair? Rot! That's chucking your chances away. That's playing the fool! What's he got to do with your life before you met him?" This was flinging the blame at him. "Would you rather that the woman you were going to marry kept silent, risked your not finding out afterwards? Would you think she'd treated you fairly if she said nothing, and you were to discover it when it was too late?" He had no answer. He tried to make one. His lips parted; then, in silence, he turned away. "It might have made your mind easier," she said quietly, without tone of blame, "but it wouldn't have been fair." He twisted back. "There's no need for my mind to be made easier," he said hardly. "I've treated you fairly from the beginning to the end. I warned you in the first instance; I told you to have no truck with me. I sent you away. You came back. I didn't ask you to come back." Janet's words flashed across Sally's memory; the words she had said when they were talking over the bangle: "I don't care what you say about that letter, the letter's nothing! It's the gift that's the thing. That's the song of sex if you like, and whether you return it, or whether you don't, you'll answer it, as he means you to."