"I've been very expensive, Humphrey," she said wistfully. "How much? We didn't think it would cost so much as it has, did we? You should have married a big, strong woman, Humphrey, or——"
"Or what?"
"Or nobody," she murmured.
The eyes that she bent upon the fire glittered. He squeezed her hand, and laughed constrainedly.
"I'm quite content, thank you," he said, in as light a tone as he could manage. "What are you crying for? Nurse will look daggers at me and think I've been bullying you. Tell me—was she kind to you? I've been haunted by the idea that she was treating you badly and you were too frightened of her to let anyone know. You're such a kid, little woman, in some things—such an awful kid."
"Not such a kid as you imagine," she said. "I've been thinking; I've thought of many things since Baby was born. Often when they believed I was asleep, I used to lie and think and think, till I was wretched."
"What did you think of?" asked Kent indulgently.
"You mustn't be vexed with me if I tell you. I've thought that, perhaps, although you don't feel it yet—though you don't suppose you ever will feel it—it might have been best for you, really and seriously best, if you had married nobody, Humphrey—if you had had nothing to interfere with your work, and had lived on with Mr. Turquand just as you were. There, now you are vexed! Bend down, and let me smooth it away."
"What can have put such a stupid idea into your head?" said Kent, wishing pityingly that he had not felt it quite so often. "Don't be a goose, sweetheart! What nonsense! I should be lost without you."
"I think I suit you better than any other woman would," she said, with pathetic confidence. "But if you had kept single? That's what I've wondered—if you wouldn't be better off without a wife at all. Oh, you should hear some of the stories Nurse has told me of places she has been in! I didn't think there could be such awfulness in the world. And in the first confinement, too! It makes one afraid that no woman can ever expect to understand any man."