"Yes, cheat me! cheat me! I suppose that you sat upstairs and pretended to keep the children quiet, while I sat down here and wrote. And for every page I wrote, you wrote another, the object of which was to rob me of the life-blood with which I had written mine. But far be it from me to reproach you, Mr. Philip Ayre. You have won, and I--poor devil!--I have lost. It is the fortune of war. I am without a penny. You have your five hundred pounds. And, as it is quite impossible that I can consent to be the recipient of charity from the woman who calls herself my wife, I have the pleasure, Mr. Philip Ayre, of wishing you good day." She sprang between the door and him. "Geoffrey! What are you going to do?" "I am going to live my own life. I am going to earn my own living under the shelter of a roof for which I myself have paid. I am going to meet you with the gloves off, in fair and open fight, not behind a hedgerow, with a gun in my hand, Mr. Philip Ayre." "Geoffrey, any--any hour I may be taken ill." "What do you wish me to do? I will stay here until you are well, but only until then, on the understanding that not a penny of your money is to be used for me." "The children are upstairs. Won't you--won't you let them in?" "Let them stay upstairs. Philippa! What is the matter?" Her time was come--that was the matter. By noon their fourth child was born. When the nurse came to the sitting-room door, she found Geoffrey pacing round and round like some wild creature in a cage. "Mr. Ford, sir?" He looked round with a start. "Yes, nurse." "Mrs. Ford would like to see you, sir." "To see me? Oh! Is she well enough?" "Well, sir, she's not so well as she might be. But she says that it would do her good to see you. Only you musn't let her talk too much, nor yet you musn't stay too long." "I won't stay too long." He went upstairs. He paused for a moment outside the bedroom door. Then he entered the room. "_Geoff, I'm going to die!_" Her words so frightened him that, in the suddenness of his fear, he staggered backwards. "To die!" "All along I knew that I should. I knew it when I was writing that wicked book--the book which has won the prize, I mean. Perhaps that was why I wrote it. It is the best way out of the trouble. I should never have been the same wife to you again. I know you so well. But, Geoffrey, you won't refuse to accept a legacy from me when I am dead. It is the only thing I have ever had to give you. For the children's sake, and the little baby's sake, and mine." He sat on a chair by the bedside, trying to hold himself in, as it were, with every muscle of his body. "Philippa, you musn't talk like that." "If you'll forgive me, Geoff, I'll be content--only promise that you'll accept my legacy." "Not if you die, I won't." "Geoff!" "I'll accept it if you live."