"And it was Nancy who had to tell you everything?"
"Yes; Nancy," said Barney, staring at the ceiling. There was a note, now, of control in his voice and Oldmeadow knew that if he had said no word of what must be foremost in both their thoughts it was because he could not trust himself to speak of it. And he went on quickly, taking refuge from his invading emotion, "Aunt Monica wasn't there. I didn't even see Johnson. I went right through the house and into the garden and there was Nancy, planting something in the border. Everything looked so natural. I just went up to her and said 'Hello, Nancy,' and then, when she looked up at me, I thought she was going to faint. Poor little Nancy. I knew something terrible had happened from the way she looked at me."
"Poor little Nancy. But I'm glad it was she who told you, Barney."
"No one could have been sweeter," said Barney, talking on quickly. "She kept saying, 'Oh, you oughtn't to be here, Barney. You oughtn't to be here.' But no one could have been sweeter. We sat down on the old bench, you know, and she told me. That Adrienne had nearly died. That the baby was dead. I could hardly believe her, at first. I stared at her, I know, and I kept saying, 'What do you mean, Nancy?--what do you mean?' And she began to cry and I cried, too. Men do feel, Roger, all the same, even though they haven't the mother's claim to feel. I thought about our baby so much. I loved it, too. And now--to think it's dead; and that I never saw it; and that it's my fault"--his voice had shaken more and more; he had put his hand before his eyes, and, then, suddenly, he leaned forward and buried his head on the arm of the sofa.
"My poor Barney! My dear boy!" Oldmeadow muttered. He came and sat down beside him; he laid his arm around his shoulders. "It's not your fault," he said.
"Oh, don't say that, Roger!" sobbed Barney. "It's no good trying to comfort me. I've broken her heart. She doesn't say so. She's too angelic to say it; but she lies there and looks it. My poor darling! My poor, courageous darling; what she has been through! It can't be helped. I must face it. I'm her husband. I ought to have understood. She supplicated me, and I rejected her, and the child is dead."