“What’s that?” said Anita sharply.
There was a sound in the passage, a heavy sound of feet. It caught at my heart. It was a sound that I knew. They had come tramping up the stairs like that when they fetched away Mother. Thud—stumble—thud! I shivered. But as the steps came nearer they belonged to but one man. The door opened and the fog and the man entered together. Everyone turned to him with a queer, long flash of faces.
“Kent!” cried Anita, welcoming him. Then her voice changed. “Kent! What’s wrong? What is it?”
He shut the door behind him and stood, his back against it, staring at us, like a man stupefied.
The Baxter girl broke in shrilly—
“He’s wired. He’s had a wire!” She pointed at his clenched hand.
Then he, too, looked down at his own hand. His fingers relaxed slowly and a crush of red and grey paper slid to the floor.
“A son,” he said dully.
“Ah!” A cry from the corner by the fire eased the tension. Great-aunt Serle was clapping her hands together. Her face was wrinkled all over with delight. “The good girl! The pretty——And a son too! A little son! Oh, the good girl!”
Anita turned on her, her voice like a scourge—