“I married Beattie because I loved her, not because I wanted to become a father,” he said.

After a long pause he added, almost wistfully.

“As to Beattie’s reasons for marrying me, well, Dion, I haven’t asked what they were and I never shall.  Women are mysterious, and I believe it’s wisdom on our part not to try to force the locks and look into the hidden chambers.  I’ll do what I can to make up to Beattie for this terrible disappointment.  It won’t be nearly enough, but that isn’t my fault.  Rosamund and you can help her a little.”

“How?”

“She—­she’s extraordinarily fond of Robin.”

“Extraordinarily?” said Dion, startled almost by Daventry’s peculiar emphasis on the word.

“Yes.  Let her see a good deal of Robin if you can.  Poor Beattie!  She’ll never have a child of her own to live in.”

Dion told Rosamund of this conversation, and they agreed to encourage Beattie to come to Little Market Street as often as possible.  Nevertheless Beattie did not come very often.  It was obvious that she adored Robin, who was always polite to her; but perhaps delicacy of feeling kept her from making perpetual pilgrimages to the shrine before which an incense not hers was forever ascending; or perhaps she met a gaunt figure of Pain in the home of her sister.  However it was, her visits were rather rare, and no persuasion availed to make her come oftener.  At this time she and Dion’s mother drew closer together, The two women loved and understood each other well.  Perhaps between them there was a link of loneliness, or perhaps there was another link.

Early in April Dion received one morning the following letter: 

“CLARIDGE’S HOTEL 6 April

“DEAR MR. LEITH,—­I feel pretty rotten about you.  I thought when once a clever boxer gave his honor on a thing it was a dead cert.  The mater wouldn’t let me write before, though I’ve been at her over it every day for weeks.  But now we’re going away, so she says I may write and just tell you.  If you want to say good-by could you telephone, she says.  P’raps you don’t.  P’raps you’ve forgotten us.  I can tell you Jenkins is sick about it all and your never going to the Gim.  He said to me to-day, ‘I don’t know what’s come over Mr. Leith.’  No more do I. The mater says you’re a busy man and have a kid.  I say a true friend is never too busy to be friendly.  I really do feel rotten over it, and now we are going.—­Your affectionate JIMMY.”

Dion showed Rosamund the letter, and telephoned to say he would call on the following day.  Jimmy’s voice answered on the telephone and said: 

“I say, you have been beastly to us.  The mater says nothing, but we thought you liked us.  Jenkins says that between boxers there’s always a—­”

At this point Jimmy was cut off in the flow of his reproaches.

On arriving at Claridge’s Dion found Jimmy alone.  Mrs. Clarke was out but would return in a moment.  Jimmy received his visitor not stiffly but with exuberant and vociferous reproaches, and vehement demands to know the why and wherefore of his unsportsmanlike behavior.