” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes. "You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. It was a sovereign easily earned. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. He touched her breast as if he was testing the waters of a cold lake. ‘Cover her, men. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. I love him!" She was weak and dizzy: from horror as much as from physical exertion. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. .
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