another language, the weariness of hearing him, attending to him, making out who he was, as he stood there fair-bearded and alien, looking at her. She knew something of him, of his eyes. But she could not grasp him. She closed her eyes.

He turned away, white to the gills.

“It's not so very bad,” said the midwife.

He knew he was a strain on his wife. He went downstairs.

The child glanced up at him, frightened.

“I want my mother,” she quavered.

“Ay, but she's badly,” he said mildly, unheeding.

She looked at him with lost, frightened eyes.

“Has she got a headache?”