"Lie still, darling, and let mother go to sleep."
Peggy lay still, and Anne went on thinking.
There was nothing to be done. She would have to take him back again, always. Whatever shame he dragged her through, she must take him back again, for the child's sake.
Suddenly she remembered Peggy's birthday. It was only last week. Surely she had not known then. She must have forgotten for a time.
Then tenderness came, and with it an intolerable anguish. She was smitten and was melted; she was torn and melted again. Her throat was shaken, convulsed; then her bosom, then her whole body. She locked her teeth, lest her sobs should break through and wake the child.
She lay thus tormented, till a memory, sharper than imagination, stung her. She saw her husband carrying the sleeping child, and his face bending over her with that look of love. She closed her eyes, and let the tears rain down her hot cheeks and fall upon her breast and in her hair. She tried to stifle the sobs that strangled her, and she choked. That instant the child's lips were on her face, tasting her tears.
"Oh, mummy, you're crying."
"No, my pet. Go to sleep."
"Why are you crying?"
Anne made no sound; and Peggy cried out in terror.