I really think he is seriously gone on me, and he must be sixty if he's an hour. I think I shall appeal to Chesterford for protection. What fun it would be to make Chesterford talk to him gravely like a grandson. He stopped at home this morning to look after the baby. I think I shall get jealous of the nurse, and pretend that he's sweet on her, and that's why he goes to the nursery so much."
Jack laughed.
"Between you, you hit the right average pretty well," he said. "If it wasn't for Chesterford, the baby would certainly have fallen downstairs half a dozen times. You don't half realise how important he is."
"Oh, you're entirely wrong, Jack," said Dodo calmly. "It's just that which I do recognise; what I don't recognise is that I should be supposed to find ineffable joys in watching it eat and sleep and howl. You know one baby is very much like another."
"In other words, supposing the boy had no expectations," said Jack, "and was not the heir-apparent of half Staffordshire, you would find him much less interesting."
"Would you think me very heartless if I said 'Yes'?" asked Dodo.
"Well, I never held a very high opinion of your heart, you know," said Jack, laughing, "and I don't know that I think much worse of it now."
"You judge so stupidly," said Dodo; "you elevate matrimony into a sacrament. Now I don't. It is a contract for mutual advantage. The husband gives wealth, position and all that, and the wife gives him a housekeeper, and heirs to his property. Don't frown, Jack. That's my eminently common-sense view of the question. It answers excellently, as I find by experience. But, of course, there are marriages for love. I suppose most of the lower middle-class marry for love, at least they haven't got any position or wealth to marry for. But we, the disillusioned and unromantic upper classes, see beyond that. I daresay our great grandfathers married for love, but the fact that so many of us don't, shows that ours is the more advanced and probably correct view. You know all wine-tasters agree on the superiority of one wine, and the inferiority of another. That's the result of education. The amateur thinks they are all more or less alike, and very probably prefers some sweet bad kind. That's the middle-class view of love-marriages. The more I think of it, the more I feel that love is an illusion. Think of all the people who marry for love, and get eternally tired of each other afterwards. They can't keep it up. The lovers grow into friends, and the friends into enemies. Those are the enviable ones who remain friends; but it is better to marry as a friend than as a lover, because in the latter case there is a reaction and a disappointment, which may perhaps ruin the friendship. Aren't I a wise woman, Jack? I think I shall set up a general advice office."
Jack was, rather pale, and his fingers twitched nervously at his reins.
"Have you never felt that illusion?" he asked, in a low voice.
"Really, Jack," said Dodo, "you behave as if you were the inquisition. But I don't see why I shouldn't tell you. For Chesterford I never have. He is the most excellent husband, and I esteem and admire him immensely. Don't make your horse so fidgety, Jack. As I was saying, I don't see why I shouldn't tell you, considering you proposed to me once, and confessed to the same illusion yourself. Have you got over it, by the way? If I had married you, you certainly would have by this time."
There was a long pause. Then Jack said,—
"No, Dodo, I have never got over it."
The moment after he had said it, he would have given his right hand to have it unsaid. Dodo was silent for a moment, and Jack found himself noticing the tiny, trivial things about him. He observed a fly trying to alight oh his horse's ear, but the animal flicked it off with a little jerk, before it got fairly settled. He wondered whether the fly had illusions about that ear, and whether it imagined that it would be happy for ever and ever, if it could once settle there.
"You know we are saying the most frightfully unconventional things to each other," said Dodo. "I am very sorry for you, Jack, and I will administer consolation. When I said 'No' to you, I did it with real regret, with quite a different sort of feeling to that which I should have had if I had said 'No' to Chesterford. It was quite an unreasonable feeling, I couldn't define it, but I think it must have been because——"
Then Jack recovered his self-respect in a moment, by one of those strange contradictions in our nature, which urged him to stop his ears to what, a week before, he had been almost tempting her to say.
"Ah, stop, stop," he said, "you don't know what you are saying. Dodo, this won't do. Think of Chesterford."
"Chesterford and the baby," said Dodo softly. "I believe you are right, Jack. This is unprofitable. But, Jack, since we renounce that, let us still be friends. Don't let this have made any difference to us. Try and realise that it is all an illusion."
Dodo half turned towards him, with a long glance in her brown eyes, and a little smile playing about her mouth.
"Yes, yes," said Jack, laughing nervously. "I told Bertie so the other day. I have been a madman for half an hour, but that is over. Shall we turn?"
They wheeled their horses round, and cantered down the Row.
"Oh, this beautiful world," exclaimed Dodo. "You've no idea what it is to me to come out of the house again, and ride, and dance and sing. I really believe, Jack, that I enjoy things more than anyone else I know. Everything that enjoys itself appeals to me. Jack, do enjoy yourself, although we settled you mustn't appeal to me. Who is that girl standing there with the poodle? I think I shall get Chesterford to buy me a poodle. There's a woman nest her awfully like Vivy, do you see, shading her eyes with her hand. It is Vivy."
Dodo's face suddenly grew grave and frightened. She reined her horse in opposite to where Mrs. Vivian was standing.
"Quick, quick," she said, "tell me what has happened!"
Mrs. Vivian looked up at Dodo with infinite compassion in her eyes.
"Dodo, darling," she said, "give your horse to the groom. Please help her to dismount, Mr. Broxton."
Dodo got off, and Mrs. Vivian led her to a seat. Dodo had a sudden flash of remembrance of how she had sat here with Jack a year ago.
"Tell me quickly," she said again.
"My poor Dodo," said Mrs. Vivian, softly stroking the back of Dodo's hand. "You will be brave, won't you? It is worth while being brave. It is all over. The baby died this morning, half an hour after you had gone."
Dodo's first feeling was one of passionate anger and resentment. She felt she had been duped and tricked in a most unjustifiable manner. Fate had led her to expect some happy days, and she had been cruelly disappointed. It was not fair; she had been released from two tedious months of inactivity, only to be caught again. It was like a cat playing with a mouse. She wanted to revenge herself on something.
"Oh, it is too awful," she said. "Vivy, what can I do? It is cruel." Then her better nature came to her aid. "Poor Chesterford, poor dear old boy," she said simply.
Mrs. Vivian's face grew more tender.
"I am glad you thought of him," she said. "His first thought was for you. He was there all the time. As soon as it was over he said to himself, 'Please, God, help Dodo to bear it.' You bear it very well, dear. Come, the carriage is waiting."
"Oh, I can't, I can't," said Dodo passionately; "let me sit here a little while, and then go away somewhere else. I can bear it better alone. I can't see Chesterford."
"No, Dodo,"
