“What a thing to ask, Peter. Did you ever imagine I didn’t?”
“Shall it bring us together, my wife, the death of our child? Will you feel for my sorrow as I feel for yours, my poor darling?”
“Feel for you, Peter? Why, of course I do. It is especially hard on you, too, losing your heir.”
Her look, her words crushed all the sudden impulse of resolve, hope, love even.
“My heir?” Peter repeated, in a stumbling tone. “That has nothing to do with it. I wasn’t thinking of that.”
“Weren’t you?” said Alicia, rather wearily. She felt her weakness, it irked her, and her next words were more fretfully uttered—
“Of course I know you feel for me. Such a lot to go through, too, and for nothing.” She saw the pain setting her husband’s lips sternly. “I suppose now, Peter, that you are imagining I care nothing about baby,” she remarked.
“I hope I am not a brute,” said Peter gloomily.
“You hope I’m not, too, no doubt.”
“Don’t, don’t, Alicia.”