“She hasn’t learnt; no one ever taught her. She’s married; yet she’s still on the raft.—Billy, I want you to do something for her.”
“Me—for her?”
“I want you to ask her, as soon as she’s well, to come here to Topbury with the baby. She’s tired. I can feel it in her letters. I’d like to help her.”
“She’ll only misconstrue your help—you know that. She’ll bore us to tears by boasting about Ocky.”
“And won’t that be to her credit?”
“To her credit, but beastly annoying. If she’d only believe in him to his face and cease shamming that she’s proud of him behind his back, matters might mend. She won’t let us make her affairs our business. Some day, when it’s too late, she may have to. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
But, when Jehane came, she set that fear at rest. It was impossible not to believe that Ocky’s feet were on the upward ladder: she was better dressed, happier and had money to spend. She wore presents of jewelry which her husband had given her—so she said. The money, she told them, was the result of speculations which Ocky had made for her with the little capital left by Captain Spashett. She spoke with enthusiasm of his cleverness. And the happiness—that was because Barrington had invited her personally. Naturally she kept this knowledge to herself.
Nan had planned to encompass her with the atmosphere of affection. Little gifts from Jehane, received in her girlhood, were set about the bedroom to awaken memories—to let her know how well she was remembered. Jehane noticed the carefully thought out campaign—the efforts that were made to win her. She wondered what it all meant; then she realized and was touched.
Nan sat wistfully beside her friend, watching the baby being put to bed. She kissed its little limbs with a kind of reverence and ministered humbly to its helplessness. When Jehane pressed its eager lips against her breast, Nan’s eyes filled with tears. Jehane looked up questioningly.
“I shall never have another,” Nan said.