He looked at his watch. In half an hour the doctor would be back. He
must decide! If against the operation and she died, how face her mother
and the doctor afterwards? How face his own conscience? It was his child
that she was having. If for the operation--then he condemned them both
to childlessness. And for what else had he married her but to have a
lawful heir? And his father--at death's door, waiting for the news!
'It's cruel!' he thought; 'I ought never to have such a thing to settle!
It's cruel!' He turned towards the house. Some deep, simple way of
deciding! He took out a coin, and put it back. If he spun it, he knew he
would not abide by what came up! He went into the dining-room, furthest
away from that room whence the sounds issued. The doctor had said there
was a chance. In here that chance seemed greater; the river did not
flow, nor the leaves fall. A fire was burning. Soames unlocked the
tantalus. He hardly ever touched spirits, but now--he poured himself
out some whisky and drank it neat, craving a faster flow of blood. 'That
fellow Jolyon,' he thought; 'he had children already. He has the woman I
really loved; and now a son by her! And I--I'm asked to destroy my only
child! Annette can't die; it's not possible. She's strong!'
He was still standing sullenly at the sideboard when he heard the
doctor's carriage, and went out to him. He had to wait for him to come
downstairs.
"Well, doctor?"
"The situation's the same. Have you decided?"
"Yes," said Soames; "don't operate!"
"Not? You understand--the risk's great?"
In Soames' set face nothing moved but the lips.
"You said there was a chance?"
"A chance, yes; not much of one."
"You say the baby must be born dead if you do?"
"Yes."
"Do you still think that in any case she can't have another?"
"One can't be absolutely sure, but it's most unlikely."
"She's strong," said Soames; "we'll take the risk."
The doctor looked at him very gravely. "It's on your shoulders," he
said; "with my own wife, I couldn't."
Soames' chin jerked up as if someone had hit him.
"Am I of any use up there?" he asked.
"No; keep away."
"I shall be in my picture-gallery, then; you know where."
The doctor nodded, and went upstairs.
Soames continued to stand, listening. 'By this time to-morrow,'
he thought, 'I may have her death on my hands.' No! it was
unfair--monstrous, to put it that way! Sullenness dropped on him again,
and he went up to the gallery. He stood at the window. The wind was in
the north; it was cold, clear; very blue sky, heavy ragged white clouds
chasing across; the river blue, too, through the screen of goldening
trees; the woods all rich with colour, glowing, burnished-an early
autumn. If it were his own life, would he be taking that risk? 'But
she'd 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. They
flew far, making a flung-up hieroglyphic against the sky. Annette fed
the doves; it was pretty to see her. They took it out of her hand; they
knew she was matter-of-fact. A choking sensation came into his throat.
She would not--could nod die! She was too--too sensible; and she was
strong, really strong, like her mother, in spite of her fair prettiness.