"Ronnie is not fully himself, yet," she said.
Dick looked at her keenly. "How so?"
"He professes to remember, and does remember, everything which happened, up to the final crash in the studio. Yet he has made no mention to me of—of our child."
"He is shy about it," suggested Dick. "You speak first."
"I cannot," she replied. "It is for Ronald to do that."
"Ah, you dear women!" moralised the young bachelor. "You remind me of Nebuchadnezzar—no, I mean Naaman. You bravely ford the rushing waters of your Abanas and your Pharpars, and then you buck-jump at the little river Jordan!"
"My dear Dick, I am becoming accustomed to the extraordinary inaptness of your scriptural allusions. But this is hardly a small matter between me and Ronnie. I am ready to make every allowance for his illness and loss of memory; but I don't see how I can start life with him at home, until he manages to remember a thing of such vital import in our wedded life. He may be sane on every other point. I cannot consider him sane on this."
"Shall I tell him?" suggested Dick.
"No, let him remember. He can remember his Infant of Prague; his mind is full of that again. Why should he not be able to remember my baby son?"
"Oh, lor!" sighed Dr. Dick. "Why not put that poser to Ronnie direct, instead of putting it to me? Forgive me for saying so, but you are suffering just now from a reaction, after the terrible strain through which you have passed. And Ronnie is wretched too, because he remembers how you let fly at him that evening, and he thinks you really meant it."