Kitty told Janey about it afterward, as they sat alone in the lounge before dinner. "You mustn't mind, Kitty dear," said Jane. "It only means that she's a faithful little soul. She'll be just as faithful to you some day." "Some day." "Don't sigh like that, Kitty." "She's like Robert, isn't she?" "Very like Robert." She brooded. "Janey," she said, "let me have him to myself this evening." All evening she had him to herself, out on the Cliff, in the place where nobody came but they. "Well," he said, "what do you think of them?" "I think they're adorable." "Funny little beggars, aren't they? How did you get on with Janet?" She told him. "That's Janet's little way. To give you something of her own." He smiled in tender satisfaction, repeating the child's phrase. "It's all right, Kitty. She's only holding herself in. You're in for a big thing." She surveyed it. "I know, Robert. I know." "You're tired? Have the children been too much for you?" She shook her head. "You're not to make yourself a slave to them, you know." She looked at him. "Was I all right, Robert?" "You were perfect." "You said I was only a child myself." "So you are. That's why I like you." She shook her head again. "It's all very well," she said, "but that isn't what you want, dear--another child." "How do you know what I want?" "You want somebody much nicer than I am." He was silent, looking at her as he had looked at Barbara, enjoying her absurdity, letting her play, like the child she was, with her preposterous idea. "Oh, Robert, you do _really_ think I'm nice?" She came nearer to him, crying out like a child in pain. He put his arm round her, and comforted her as best he could. "You child, do you suppose I'd marry you if I didn't think you nice?" "You might. You mightn't care." "As it happens, I do care, very much. Anyhow, I wouldn't ask you to be a mother to my children if I didn't think you nice. That's the test." "Yes, Robert," she repeated, "that's the test." They rose and went back to the hotel. From the lawn they could see the open window of the children's room. They looked up. "Would you like to see them, Kitty?" "Yes." He took her up to them. They were asleep. Little Barbara lay curled up in the big bed, right in the middle of it where her dreams had tossed her. Janet, in the cot beside her, lay very straight and still. Robert signed to Kitty to come near, and they stood together and looked first at the children and then into each other's faces. Kitty was very quiet. "Do you like them?" he whispered. Her lips quivered, but she made no sign. He stooped over each bed, smoothing the long hair from Janet's forehead, folding back the blanket that weighed on Barbara's little body. When he turned, Kitty had gone. She had slipped into her own room.