“My explanation to myself was that I did not want to leave you brusquely, and I thought a blurred interlude of this sort would do no harm to either of us. Our loves could die in each other’s arms.” She stared with incredulous fixity at the floor, her spirit seeming to be arched like a swan and to be gazing down hypnotically. “The real reason was simply that, being very fond of you, I could not make up my mind to give you up. I claim that my visits were not frivolous.” “Well?” “I would have married you, if you had considered that advisable.” “Yes? And⸺?” “I find it very difficult to say the rest.” “What is difficult?” “Well, I still like you very much. Yesterday I met a woman. I love her too. I can’t help that. What must I do?” Bertha turned a slightly stormier white. “Who is she?” “You know her. She is Anastasya Vasek.” The news struck through something else, and, inside, her ego shrank to an almost wizened being. It seemed glad of the protection the cocoon, the something, afforded her. “You did not—find out what my news was.” “I didn’t. Have you anything⸺?” “Yes. I am enceinte.” * * * * * He thought about this in a clumsy, incredulous way. It _was_ a Roland for his Oliver! She was going to have a baby! With what regularity he was countered! This event rose up in opposition to the night he had just spent, his new promises and hopes of swagger sex in the future. He was beaten. “Whose child is it?” “Kreisler’s.” * * * * * “There you are!” he thought. He got up and stepped over to her with a bright relieved look in his face. “Poor little girl! That’s a bad business. But don’t worry about it. We can get married and it can always pass as mine—if we do it quickly enough.” She looked up at him obliquely and sharply, with suspicion grown a habit. When she saw the pleasant, assured expression, she saw that at last things had turned. Sorbert was denying reality! He was ending with miracles, against himself. Her instinct had always told her that generosity would not be wasted! She did not tell him of the actual circumstances under which the child had come. That would have weakened her happiness and her case. CHAPTER V When he got outside Bertha’s house, Bertha waving to him from the window with tears in her eyes, he came in for the counter-attack. One after the other the protesting masses of good sense rolled up. He picked his way out of the avenue with a reasoning gesticulation of the body; a chicken-like motion of sensible fastidious defence in front of buffonic violence. At the gate he exploded in harsh laughter, looking bravely and railingly out into the world through his glasses. Then he walked slowly away in his short jacket, his buttocks moving methodically just beneath its rim. “Ha ha! Ha ha! Kreisleriana!” he shouted without his voice. The indignant plebs of his glorious organism rioted around his mind.