Suddenly something in the physician’s eyes sent a dull shock through Odell. He turned and stared at his wife as though he had never before laid eyes on her. After a while he found his voice:
“You—you’ll get better after a spell,” he stammered. “Feel like eatin’ a mite o’ sunthin’ tasty? You want I should get you a little jell ’rsunthin’—Fanny——”
Her bright, sunken gaze checked him.
“You ain’t asked to see the baby,” she said in her thin, measured voice; “I’m sorry I ever bore a child to you, Elmer.”
Odell reddened: “Where is it——?” He stumbled up from his chair, looking vaguely about him, confused by her brilliant eyes—by their measureless resentment.
For life was becoming too brief for pretence now. Fanny knew it; her husband began to realise it.
She said: “I’m glad I have no sons. I’m sorry I bore a child.... God forgive me.... Because I’ll never rest, never be quiet, now.... But I don’t mind so much ... if THEY will let me keep an eye on her somehow——” She tried to lift her head from the pillow: “I want to see her,” she said sharply.
“Yes,” said the doctor. “I want you to see her. Wait a moment——”
As he passed Odell he drew him outside. “Go downstairs,” he whispered. “I’ll call you if she asks to see you again.”
“She ain’t a-goin’ to get no better?” demanded Odell hoarsely.