“In her bed.”
“Ill?”
“A touch of the fever. She’ll get over it.”
“Very well,” he said. “Now, attend. Look at this.”
She followed the motion of his hand, as, very gently, it lifted a corner of the wrappers on his arm.
“A living baby!”
“It looks like one.”
She discussed him sombrely a minute, then spoke in a shrewd whisper:
“You’ve got some dark game on here, my gentleman.”
He dropped the shawl again.