"I can't eat just now," she said.
"If you have a child to suckle, you should," he replied.
But she only became more silent, and her hands hung dead in her lap. Then the baby began to cry, a thin, poor, frail noise, and she went to soothe it.
When she came back, Jack had left the table and was sitting in Percy's wooden arm-chair.
"Percy's child doesn't seem to have much life in it," he said.
"Not very much," she replied. And her hands trembled as she cleared away the dishes.
When she had finished, she moved about, afraid to sit down. He called her to him.
"Monica!" he said with a little jerk of his head, meaning she should come to him.
She came rather slowly, her queer, pure-seeming face looking like a hurt. She stood with her thin hands hanging in front of her apron.
"Monica!" he said, rising and taking her hands. "I should still want you if you had a hundred children. So we won't say any more about that. And you won't oppose me when there's anything I want to do, will you?"