The marvel of love creating life had exalted her and she had longed to pour her tender visionings into the ears of—her lover! For John had been thus enshrined in her fond imagination!
The whole idea of having a child to her was a sacred wonder with little of earth in it, and she had woven exquisite sentiment round it and had dreamed fair dreams of how she would whisper her thoughts to John as she lay clasped to his heart; and John, too, would be thrilled with exaltation, for was not the glorious mystery his as well—not hers alone?
Now everything looked grey.
Tears rose in her eyes. Then she took herself to task; it was perhaps only her foolish romance leading her astray once more. The thought might mean nothing to a man beyond the pride of having a son to carry on his name. If the baby should be a little girl John might not care for it at all!
The tears brimmed over and fell upon a big crimson carnation in her coat, a bunch of which John had ordered to be sent her, and which were now safely reposing in a card-board box in the rack above her head.
Fortunately she had the carriage to herself. No one had attempted to get in, and they would soon be off. To be away from London would be a relief.
Then her thoughts flew to Verisschenzko; he had told her that circumstances in his country might require his frequent presence in England for the next few months.
She would see him again. What would he tell her to do now? Conquer emotion and look at things with common sense.
The picture of the dinner at the Carlton then came back to her, and the face of Denzil across the table, so like, and yet so unlike John!
If Denzil had a wife would he be cold to her? Was it in the nature of all Ardayres?