“Christine,” he said, gently, “are you happy?”
She smiled at him upon her sigh.
“Very happy, dear.”
Again there was a silence between them. Presently she looked up once more.
“It’s splendid the way Phil is getting on, isn’t it, dear?”
He glanced at her from his own dream, uncomprehending. She went on, as though discussing a subject thoroughly familiar.
“Do you remember we said we would call him Philip—our first boy—long before we had him? When we used to talk about him, in those first happy months of being together, it didn’t seem possible that it could ever be really true, did it, dear? And yet there he is—twenty-four years old! It’s difficult for me to think that I ever could have been his mother. When I look at him, so tall and big, it seems impossible that he could once have been my baby.”
He stared at her. What was she talking of? They had never had a child. Then it came to him——
“Yes, dear. He’s a fine chap.”
She smiled at him gratefully.