"I 'll never marry anybody. I always meant to marry Garry ... and now you--" Vindictiveness came into her voice again, and Val's heart gave a little weary sigh, for she was dead beat, and this was her legitimate time of rest, hard wrung from the day. To have to face this exhausting scene late at night seemed very much like the last straw that was one too many for the camel.
However, it was urgent to get it over and done with before Westenra came in, so she stayed on talking to the unhappy child, trying to beguile her from her misery and once and for all place their relationship on a footing of sympathy and affection. It seemed almost a hopeless task, but in the end the effective thing was that she told Haidee of what so far she had spoken to no one but Westenra--her deep, sweet, secret joy in the thought of the child that was coming. It was Haidee's first glimpse into the workings of nature, and she sat wide-eyed and dumb, searching Val from top to toe for circumstantial evidence, while Val, with a faint flush in her pale face, but serene-eyed and in simple words, following on Carpenter's advice in Love's Coming of Age, made all clear to the child. She even, with a touch of guile, let Haidee into the secret of suffering to be endured before the baby could come into the world, believing that to touch the heart of the child to a little sympathy might not be an unwise thing. And she was right: from sympathy to compassion is a natural step, and Haidee went to bed in a glow of good resolution to be as helpful and considerate as possible in the days to come. Indeed, without turning into an angel, or even a moderately good child, she did improve greatly in behaviour during the next few months, while waiting with burning impatience for what was to come when the bleak spring days were over.
June came at last, and brought its gift to Valentine and Westenra--a son. Like an impetuous Irishman, as Val had declared, anxious to get into the thick of the fight, he had practically started their married life with them, and arrived as soon as compatibility with schedule permitted. That was a great day in the Westenra household when the golden head of a baby lit up like a star the gloom of dark and difficult ways. Instead of one baby, indeed, there were three. Two of them haggard and thin, but content and care-free as the third in that glad hour of love made incarnate. Even Haidee softened and turned into a real child as she hung with perpetual curiosity over the cot of the new-comer.
"It's got blue eyes, just like the lion cubs in the Zoo.... Oh, look at it clutching on to me! You are lucky, Val.... I wish I could get one, too. Oh, could n't I have it to sleep with me?"
She sulked bitterly when she was not permitted to take charge of it to play with like a doll, and thereafter constantly complained to Westenra of Val's greediness.
"You 'd think it was all hers--and how can it be if it is half yours? And if it is yours it belongs to me too," was the burden of her complaint.
When Val got up and resumed life again, the question of a name for the baby arose. Val was all for Patrick.
"Patrick seems to stand for Ireland, and he is our link with Ireland, Joe."
"It is an unlucky name with us," Westenra objected. "My father was crazy for sons, but three he called Patrick died one after the other. When I came they took no more risks, and gave me an old family name. Choose another, Val."
"Well," she said shyly, after a little thought, "would you mind Richard?"