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Page 73
"All wrong?"
"All puckered queerly."
"Of course--with the shadows--you couldn't see him."
"Well, hold him up again." She did so. He lit another
match. It went out quickly, but not before he had seen that
the baby was crying.
"Nonsense," said Harriet sharply. "We should hear him
if he cried."
"No, he's crying hard; I thought so before, and I'm
certain now."
Harriet touched the child's face. It was bathed in
tears. "Oh, the night air, I suppose," she said, "or
perhaps the wet of the rain."
"I say, you haven't hurt it, or held it the wrong way,
or anything; it is too uncanny--crying and no noise. Why
didn't you get Perfetta to carry it to the hotel instead of
muddling with the messenger? It's a marvel he understood
about the note."
"Oh, he understands." And he could feel her shudder.
"He tried to carry the baby--"
"But why not Gino or Perfetta?"
"Philip, don't talk. Must I say it again? Don't talk.
The baby wants to sleep." She crooned harshly as they
descended, and now and then she wiped up the tears which
welled inexhaustibly from the little eyes. Philip looked
away, winking at times himself. It was as if they were
travelling with the whole world's sorrow, as if all the
mystery, all the persistency of woe were gathered to a
single fount. The roads were now coated with mud, and the
carriage went more quietly but not less swiftly, sliding by
long zigzags into the night. He knew the landmarks pretty
well: here was the crossroad to Poggibonsi; and the last
view of Monteriano, if they had light, would be from here.
Soon they ought to come to that little wood where violets
were so plentiful in spring. He wished the weather had not
changed; it was not cold, but the air was extraordinarily
damp. It could not be good for the child.
"I suppose he breathes, and all that sort of thing?" he said.
"Of course," said Harriet, in an angry whisper. "You've
started him again. I'm certain he was asleep. I do wish
you wouldn't talk; it makes me so nervous."
"I'm nervous too. I wish he'd scream. It's too
uncanny. Poor Gino! I'm terribly sorry for Gino."
"Are you?"
"Because he's weak--like most of us. He doesn't know
what he wants. He doesn't grip on to life. But I like that
man, and I'm sorry for him."
Naturally enough she made no answer.
"You despise him, Harriet, and you despise me. But you
do us no good by it. We fools want some one to set us on
our feet. Suppose a really decent woman had set up Gino--I
believe Caroline Abbott might have done it--mightn't he have
been another man?"
"Philip," she interrupted, with an attempt at
nonchalance, "do you happen to have those matches handy? We
might as well look at the baby again if you have."
The first match blew out immediately. So did the
second. He suggested that they should stop the carriage and
borrow the lamp from the driver.
"Oh, I don't want all that bother. Try again."
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