Just then they passed beyond the hearing of the astonished eavesdropper.  Good heaven, what was this?  Not his child?  Two minutes later Mrs. Odell-Carney was back at the spring where they had left her somnolent husband, who had refused to climb a hill because all of his breath was required to smoke a cigaret.

“Carney,” she said sternly, her lips rigid, her eyes set hard upon his face, “how long have the Medcrofts been married?”

He blinked heavily.  “How the devil should I know?  ’Pon me word, it’s—­”

“Four years, I think Mrs. Rodney told me.  How old is that baby?”

“’Pon me soul, Agatha, I’m as much in the dark as you.  I don’t know.”

“A little over a year, I’d say.  Well, I just heard Medcroft say that she wasn’t his child.  Whose is it?” She stood there like an accusing angel.  He started violently, and his jaw dropped; an expression of alarmed protest leaped into his listless eyes.

“’Pon me word, Agatha, how the devil should I know?  Don’t look at me like that.  Give you my word of honour, I don’t know the woman.  ’Pon me soul, I don’t, my dear.”

He was very much in earnest, thoroughly aroused by what seemed to be a direct insinuation.

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” she cried.  “Good heavens, can there be a scandal in that lovely woman’s life?”

“There’s never any scandal in a woman’s life unless she’s reasonably lovely,” remarked he.

“Whose child is she, if she isn’t Medcroft’s?” she pursued with a perplexed frown.

“Demme, Agatha, don’t ask me,” he said irritably, passing his hand over his brow.  “I’ve told you that twice.  Ask them; I daresay they know.”

She looked at him in disgust.  “As if I could do such a thing as that!  Dear me, I don’t understand it at all.  Four years married.  Yes, I’m sure that’s it.  Carney, you don’t suppose—­” She hesitated.  It was not necessary to complete the obvious question.

“Agatha,” said he, weighing his remark carefully, “I’ve said all along that Medcroft is a fool.  Take those windows, for instance.  If he—­”

“Oh, rubbish!  What have the windows to do with it?  You are positively stupid.  And I’d come to like her too.  Yes, I’d even asked her to come and see me.”  She was really distressed.

“And why not?” he demanded.  “Hang it all, Agatha, it’s nothing unusual.  She’s a jolly good sort and a sight too good for Medcroft.  He’s a stupid ass.  I’ve said so all along.  How the devil she ever married him, I can’t see.  But, by Jove, Agatha, I can readily see how she might have loved the father of this child, no matter who he is.  Take my advice, my dear, and don’t be harsh in your judgment.  Don’t say a word about what you’ve heard.  If they are reconciled to the—­er—­the situation, why the devil should we give a hang?  And, above all, don’t let these Rodneys suspect.”  Here he lowered his voice gradually.  “They’re a pack of rotters and they couldn’t understand.  They’d cut her, even if she is a cousin or whatever it is.  I’ve give a year or two of my life to know positively whether Rodney intends taking those shares or not.”  He said it in contemplative delight in what he would do if it were definitely settled.  “I can’t stand them much longer.”