There was silence. He sat staring out of the window, with a faint grin, half mockery, half bitterness, on his face. She hated his grin.
“You’ve not taken any precautions against having a child then?” he asked her suddenly. “Because I haven’t.”
“No,” she said faintly. “I should hate that.”
He looked at her, then again with the peculiar subtle grin out of the window. There was a tense silence.
At last he turned to her and said satirically:
“That was why you wanted me then, to get a child?”
She hung her head.
“No. Not really,” she said.
“What then, really ?” he asked rather bitingly.
She looked up at him reproachfully, saying: “I don’t know.” He broke into a laugh.
“Then I’m damned if I do,” he said.
There was a long pause of silence, a cold silence.
“Well,” he said at last. “It’s as your Ladyship likes. If you get the baby, Sir Clifford’s welcome to it. I shan’t have lost anything. On the contrary, I’ve had a very nice experience, very nice indeed!” and he stretched in a half suppressed sort of yawn. “If you’ve made use of me,” he said, “it’s not the first time I’ve been made use of; and I don’t suppose it’s ever been as pleasant as this time; though of course one can’t feel tremendously dignified about it.” He stretched again, curiously, his muscles quivering, and his jaw oddly set.