* * * * *

As September dusk was falling, after a silence like fate through the
flat, Osborn heard his child's cry. Half an hour after that the doctor
came out of the birth-place. He walked through the open sitting-room
door to the spot where Osborn stood as if transfixed and saw how the
young man had suffered; but he had seen scores of such young men
suffer similarly before. He glanced around the room and saw the dead
fire in the grate. He himself looked weary.

"Buck up!" he said, with a hand on Osborn's shoulder. "You've a jolly
little boy. You look bad! What have you been doing all this time?"

"Listening," Osborn gasped.

"And you've not done any good at it, have you?" the doctor said,
shaking his head. "You might as well have cleared off, you know, on to
the Heath--saved yourself a bit. However--Yes, I quite understand how
you felt. You'd better have something--a cup of tea, a whisky and
soda."

"She?" Osborn uttered.

"She's doing all right; I shall look in again to-night."

"She--she had a--a rough time?"

"Yes," said the doctor, "girls of her type do. We've progressed too
far, you know, much too far, for women. She's suffered very much. I'm
sorry."