She looked up at him quickly. "You know, and I know that Henry didn't
want you to marry me."
The uncaptured hand closed over hers, holding it tighter than she
herself could hold.
"No," she said. "I'm not the sort of woman Henry _would_ want you to
marry. To please Henry----"
"I didn't marry to please Henry."
"To please Henry you should have married placable flesh and blood, very
large and handsome, without a nerve in her body. The sort of woman who
has any amount of large and handsome flesh-and-blood children, and lives
to have them, thrives on them. That's Henry's idea of the right woman."
He admitted that it had once been his. He had seen his wife that was to
be, placable, as Jinny said, sane flesh and blood, the mother of perfect
children.
"And so, of course," said Jinny, "you go and marry me."
"Of course," said Brodrick. He said it in the voice she loved.
"Why didn't you marry her? _She_ wouldn't have bothered your life out."
She paused. "On the other hand, she wouldn't have cared for you as I do.
That sort of woman only cares for her children."
"Won't you care for them, Jinny?"
"Not as I care for you," said Jinny.
And to his uttermost amazement she bowed her head over his hands and
cried.