She talked in a way during this time that made Stephen want to go into another room and close the door. He did, sometimes. Her complaints were worded in the parlance that came easiest to her tongue. She was in no mood then to pick words and choose phrases. All that Stephen held most sacred and precious about marriage went to pieces under the constant fire.

He took many long lonely walks into the open country around Milhampton that fall to escape from Stella, to get out of sight and sound of her and purify himself, if he could, under the open sky. His thoughts were bitter ones as he tramped and tramped. It seemed as if life was determined to grind its heel upon him, and crush him. He didn’t believe in fate; he didn’t believe ill-fortune or good-fortune was planned and sent to helpless victims. He believed staunchly in the unchanging law of causation. But oh, it did make a man wish there was some other reason than his own fault, for disaster following him, wherever he went, whatever he did. It had been in an attempt to escape the horror of his father’s last act that he had come to Milhampton. And now the horror of finding himself married to a woman he did not love, had never loved (it was to get away from Mrs. Bean’s boarding-house that he had married) was his to bear. He wished he might go back to Mrs. Bean’s boarding-house. There are some kinds of unloveliness more difficult to endure than mere dirt and grime. The apartment was no longer a refuge.

Stephen made no effort to reason with Stella. In the beginning he told her briefly, sternly, that she must accept the fact of the coming child, unwelcome as it was to her (unwelcome as it was, therefore, to him). They must both accept it. There was no escape. Absolutely. Having delivered himself of this dictum, he treated her as kindly as he knew how, as he would a sick and unreasonable child—tolerated, indulged, and endured.

Stella’s protestations quieted down. Her attacks of crying and abandonment to despair grew less violent, less frequent. They disappeared completely after a month or so. That was nature’s way. Stephen knew that no emotion can continue long in intensity, in the consciousness of a human being. It runs a course, like a disease. Mercifully. Recuperation begins its gentle work, once facts are comprehended and accepted. Stephen expected that in time Stella would acquiesce and submit to “her inevitable.” But he did not expect her acquiescence and submission to become interest and delight.

One evening in January she showed Stephen a little dress she had been working on in secret, daytimes, when he was absent, she explained. As she held it up by the arms for him to see, she gurgled with amusement and pleased satisfaction.

“Isn’t ‘he’ cute?” She laughed delightedly.