"Why?" he asked. And then, "Rose, what do you mean?"
"We're going to have a baby in October," she said.
He stared at her for a minute without a word, then drew in a deep breath
and pressed his hands against his eyes. All he could say at first was
just her name. But he dropped down beside her and got her in his arms.
"So that's it," he said raggedly at last. "Oh, Rose, darling, it's such
a relief! I've been so terrified about you--so afraid something had gone
wrong. And you wouldn't let me ask, and you seemed so unhappy. I'd even
thought of talking to Randolph. I might have guessed, I suppose. I've
been stupid about it. But, you darling, I understand it all now."
She didn't see just what he meant by that, but she didn't care. It was
such a wonderful thing to stop fighting and let the tension relax,
cuddle close into his embrace, and know nothing in the world but the one
fact that he loved her; that their tale of golden hours wasn't
spent--was, perhaps, illimitable. She was even too drowsily happy to
think what he meant when he said a little later:
"So now you won't let anything trouble you, will you, child? And if
queer worrying ideas get into your head about the way we live, and about
being a drag on me and making me hate you, you'll laugh at them? You'll
be able to laugh, because you'll know why they're there.
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