"Not a farthing."
"Not a farthing. I'm bound to say—I could see it for myself," he declared, "that he has behaved very well." Mrs. Beever, at this, turning in torment on her seat, gave a smothered wail which pulled him up so that he went on in surprise: "Don't you think that?"
"I'll tell you later," she answered. "In the presence of this misery I don't judge him.
"No more do I. But what I was going to say was that, all the same, the way he has with a woman, the way he had with her there, and his damned good looks and his great happiness———"
"His great happiness? God help him!" Mrs. Beever broke out, springing up again in her emotion. She stood before him with pleading hands. "Where were you then?"
"After I left the garden? I was upset, I was dissatisfied—I didn't go over. I lighted a cigar; I passed out of the gate by your little closed pavilion and kept on by the river."
"By the river?"—Mrs. Beever was blank. "Then why didn't you see———?"
"What happened to the child? Because if it
