“Come, let us lift you,” said the Mother Superior. “You will be more comfortable on the chaise longue. Do you think you can stand?”
She put her hands under Kitty’s arms and Sister St. Joseph helped her to her feet. She sank exhausted into the chair.
“I had better shut the window,” said Sister St. Joseph. “The early morning air cannot be good for her.”
“No, no,” said Kitty. “Please leave it open.”
It gave her confidence to see the blue sky. She was shaken, but certainly she began to feel better. The two nuns looked at her for a moment in silence, and Sister St. Joseph said something to the Mother Superior which she could not understand. Then the Mother Superior sat on the side of the chair and took her hand.
“Listen, ma chère enfant …”
She asked her one or two questions. Kitty answered them without knowing what they meant. Her lips were trembling so that she could hardly frame the words.
“There is no doubt about it,” said Sister St. Joseph. “I am not one to be deceived in such a matter.”
She gave a little laugh in which Kitty seemed to discern a certain excitement and not a little affection. The Mother Superior, still holding Kitty’s hand, smiled with soft tenderness.
“Sister St. Joseph has more experience of these things than I have, dear child, and she said at once what was the matter with you. She was evidently quite right.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kitty anxiously.
“It is quite evident. Did the possibility of such a thing never occur to you? You are with child, my dear.”
The start that Kitty gave shook her from head to foot, and she put her feet to the ground as though to spring up.
“Lie still, lie still,” said the Mother Superior.
Kitty felt herself blush furiously and she put her hands to her breasts.
“It’s impossible. It isn’t true.”
“Qu’est ce qu’elle dit?” asked Sister St. Joseph.
The Mother Superior translated. Sister St. Joseph’s broad simple face, with its red cheeks, was beaming.
“No mistake is possible. I give you my word of honour.”
“How long have you been married, my child?” asked the Mother Superior. “Why, when my sister-in-law had been married as long as you she had already two babies.”
Kitty sank back into the chair. There was death in her heart.
“I’m so ashamed,” she whispered.
“Because you are going to have a baby? Why, what can be more natural?”
“Quelle joie pour le docteur,” said Sister St. Joseph.
“Yes, think what a happiness for your husband. He will be overwhelmed with joy. You have only to see him with babies, and the look on his face when he plays with them, to see how enchanted he will be to have one of his own.”
For a little while Kitty was silent. The two nuns looked at her with tender interest and the Mother Superior stroked her hand.
“It was silly of me not to have suspected it before,” said Kitty. “At all events I’m glad it’s not cholera. I feel very much better. I will get back to my work.”
“Not today, my dear child. You have had a shock, you had much better go home and rest yourself.”
“No, no, I would much rather stay and work.”
“I insist. What would our good doctor say if I let you be imprudent? Come tomorrow, if you like, or the day after, but today you must be quiet. I will send for a chair. Would you like me to let one of our young girls go with you?”
“Oh, no, I shall be all right alone.”
LVI
Kitty was lying on her bed and the shutters were closed. It was after luncheon and the servants slept. What she had learnt that morning (and now she was certain that it was true) filled her with consternation. Ever since she came home she had been trying to think; but her mind was a blank, and she could not collect her thoughts. Suddenly she heard a step, the feet were booted so that it could not be one of the boys; with a gasp of apprehension she realised that it could only be her husband. He was in the sitting-room and she heard herself called. She did not reply. There was a moment’s silence and then a knock on her door.
“Yes?”
“May I come in?”
Kitty rose from her bed and slipped into a dressing-gown.
“Yes.”
He entered. She was glad that the closed shutters shadowed her face.
“I hope I didn’t wake you. I knocked very, very gently.”
“I haven’t been asleep.”
He went to one of the windows and threw open the shutter. A flood of warm light streamed into the room.
“What is it?” she asked. “Why are you back so early?”
“The Sisters said that you weren’t very well. I thought I had better come and see what was the matter.”
A flash of anger passed through her.
“What would you have said if it had been cholera?”
“If it had been you certainly couldn’t have made your way home this morning.”
She went to the dressing-table and passed the comb through her shingled hair. She wanted to gain time. Then, sitting down, she lit a cigarette.
“I wasn’t very well this morning and the Mother Superior thought I’d better come back here. But I’m perfectly all right again. I shall go to the convent as usual tomorrow.”
“What was the matter with you?”
“Didn’t they tell you?”
“No. The Mother Superior said that you must tell me yourself.”
He did now what he did seldom; he looked her full in the face; his professional instincts were stronger than his personal. She hesitated. Then she forced herself to meet his eyes.
“I’m going to have a baby,” she said.
She was accustomed to his habit of meeting with silence a statement which you would naturally expect to evoke an exclamation, but never had it seemed to her more devastating. He said nothing; he made no gesture; no movement on his face nor change of expression in his dark eyes indicated that he had heard. She felt suddenly inclined to cry. If a
