He assented.

“And you said if there was ever anything you could do for me—­You haven’t by any chance forgotten?”

“I have not.”

“Well, if anything should happen to me—­”

“But, my dear girl, what should happen to you?”

“Things do happen, Anthony.”

“Yes, but how about Bartie?”

“That’s it.  Supposing we separated.”

“Good Heavens, you’re not contemplating that, are you?”

“I’m not contemplating anything.  But Bartie isn’t very easy to live with, is he?”

“No, he’s not.  He never was.  All the same—­”

Bartie was impossible.  Between the diseases he had and thought he hadn’t and the diseases he hadn’t and thought he had, he made life miserable for himself and other people.  He was a jealous egoist; he had the morbid coldness of the neurotic, and Vera was passionate.  She ought never to have married him.  All the same—­”

“All the same I shall stick to Bartie as long as it’s possible.  And as long as it’s possible Bartie’ll stick to me.  But, if anything happens I want you to promise that you’ll take Ronny.”

“You must get Frances to promise.”

“She’ll do anything you ask her to, Anthony.”

When Frances came into the room again Vera was crying.

And so Frances promised.

     “’London Bridge is broken down
     (Ride over My Lady Leigh!)

* * * * *

     “’Build it up with stones so strong—­

* * * * *

     “‘Build it up with gold so fine’”—­

It was twenty to eight and Ronny had not so much as begun to say Good night.  She was singing her sons to spin out the time.

     “‘London Bridge—­’”

“That’ll do, Ronny, it’s time you were in bed.”

There was no need for her to linger and draw out her caresses, no need to be afraid of going to bed alone.  Frances, at Vera’s request, had had her cot moved up into the night nursery.

VIII

Anthony had begun to wonder where on earth he should send Morrie out to this time, when the Boer War came and solved his problem.

Maurice, joyous and adventurous again, sent himself to South Africa, to enlist in the Imperial Light Horse.

Ferdie Cameron went out also with the Second Gordon Highlanders, solving, perhaps, another problem.

“It’s no use trying to be sorry, Mummy,” Dorothy said.

Frances knew what Anthony was thinking, and Anthony knew it was what Frances thought herself:  Supposing this time Morrie didn’t come back?  Then that problem would be solved for ever.  Frances hated problems when they worried Anthony.  Anthony detested problems when they bothered Frances.

And the children knew what they were thinking.  Dorothy went on.