take the risk of losing me,” he thought, “sooner than lose her child! She doesn’t really love me!” What could one expect⁠—a girl and French? The one thing really vital to them both, vital to their marriage and their futures, was a child! “I’ve been through a lot for this,” he thought, “I’ll hold on⁠—hold on. There’s a chance of keeping both⁠—a chance!” One kept till things were taken⁠—one naturally kept! He began walking round the gallery. He had made one purchase lately which he knew was a fortune in itself, and he halted before it⁠—a girl with dull gold hair which looked like filaments of metal gazing at a little golden monster she was holding in her hand. Even at this tortured moment he could just feel the extraordinary nature of the bargain he had made⁠—admire the quality of the table, the floor, the chair, the girl’s figure, the absorbed expression on her face, the dull gold filaments of her hair, the bright gold of the little monster. Collecting pictures; growing richer, richer! What use, if⁠—! He turned his back abruptly on the picture, and went to the window. Some of his doves had flown up from their perches round the dovecot, and were stretching their wings in the wind. In the clear sharp sunlight their whiteness almost flashed.