Squatting upon his haunches the doctor uncorked his brandy flask. As he leaned over to pour the liquid between Claire’s teeth, he looked Alexis squarely in the eyes.
“Your wife is pregnant,” he said shortly. “It is time you knew it.”
An ashy pallor overspread Alexis’ face. His heart leaped sickeningly. Then tolled against his ribs like a knell. It tolled so raspingly—it tolled so loudly that all the world—that Anne herself must hear it.
“Why didn’t you let me know?” he demanded softly. Was he never to cease paying for the feeble nightmare which had made Claire his? “Why was I not told?” he repeated with the same irate quiet.
Robert Elliott looked at him with grudging compassion. So the fellow could feel after all? Well, it was time he did! A throb of hatred seared him. “She did not wish to have you know. It was a matter of pride. She had no use for your pity, she only wanted you——” he hesitated over the word, “your love.”
Before the suffering in the man’s eyes, Alexis lowered his own. They fell upon the pinched features of the swooning girl.
“She is coming to,” he whispered, between dry lips.
Like folded pansies, the dark eyes slowly unfurled. Into their shadowed depths Alexis plunged his agony and his shame. “Claire, what have I done to you?” he groaned.
The pansies opened wide. Terror crept into their wounded depths. The pale lips twisted.
“You have told him?” She looked up at Robert Elliott reproachfully.