“No; for it wouldn’t have been true.”
The two women faced each other—the tall Eve, the dark little wife.
“Oh, if I could only get away from this hideous country—this whole horrible South!” said Eve, walking up and down the room like a caged tigress.
“You would like him if you knew him,” Cicely went on, gently. “It seldom happens—that other; and when it doesn’t happen, Eve—”
Eve put out her hand with a repelling gesture. “Let me take baby and go.”
“Not now. But he will be safe at Romney.”
“In Heaven’s name, then, let us get him back to Romney.”
“Yes; to-morrow.”
Little Jack was asleep in his crib by the side of Eve’s bed, for she still kept him with her at night. Cicely went to the crib and looked at her child; Eve followed her.
The little boy’s night-dress had fallen open, revealing one shoulder and arm. “It was just here,” whispered Cicely, kneeling down and softly touching the baby-flesh. She looked up at Eve, her eyes thick with tears.