"It is by no means unusual that a first child should be born a few months after marriage, my dear Sir Christopher," answered the physician.
"And perhaps—perhaps, it's rather fashionable than otherwise?" asked the knight, in a hesitating manner.
"Well—I don't know but what it is, Sir Christopher," replied Dr. Wagtail, taking a pinch of snuff. "And now that your mind is completely set at rest on this point—as indeed it must and ought to be, after the full and professional explanation which I have given you,—I will return to the chamber of your amiable and excellent lady, and see whether you can be permitted to visit her for a few moments."
"Do, my dear doctor. And, doctor," cried the Knight, as a sudden idea struck him; "pray don't—I mean, it is not necessary to let Lady Blunt know that—that—in a word—that I asked you any questions——"
"Oh! certainly not, my dear Sir Christopher," exclaimed the physician; and he then quitted the room.
"Well," thought the knight to himself, as soon as he was again alone; "and so I am the father—the happy father,"—and he made a slight grimace,—"of a fine boy. A fine boy—eh! 'Pon my honour, I'm very glad—very glad, indeed! A son and heir—a little Christopher! How very kind of my dear wife: it is a tie which will bind us together—perhaps soften her temper a leetle—and make her more sparing in the use of her finger nails. Well—if it's only for that, the coming of this child will be a great blessing—a very great blessing. But I really do wish the dear babe had made its appearance about six months later. Not that it matters much—seeing that I must be its father, and that the thing is rather fashionable than otherwise. Besides—Doctor Wagtail is such a clever man—such a very clever man—and his explanation was so completely satisfactory—so very lucid and clear—a fool might understand it. Well, I really ought to be a very happy fellow!"
But all the knight's attempts at self-persuasion and self-consolation were futile: there was a weight upon his spirits that he could not throw off—and in the depths of his secret soul there was an awful misgiving, to the existence of which he vainly endeavoured to blind his mental vision. He strove to be gay—he tried to establish the conviction that he was perfectly happy and contented—he did all he could to make himself admit to himself that the doctor's reasoning was conclusive:—still he could not shut out from his heart the ever recurring thought that the physician's argument might be very conclusive indeed, but that he was totally unable to understand a word of it.
Then came the fear of ridicule;—and this was the most galling sentiment of all. But, on the other hand, there was an apprehension which was not without its weight: namely, the anger of his wife, in case she should discover that he had dared to doubt her virtue.
Thus, by the time the doctor came back, the silly old gentleman had determined to take matters just as he found them: and, though half suspecting that there was something wrong in the business, he resolved to maintain as contented an air as possible, as the only means of combatting ridicule should he experience it, or of quieting his wife should she hear of any thing to excite her irritability.
"We are getting on so well, my dear Sir Christopher," said the physician, "that we can see you for a few minutes; but we cannot bear any loud speaking as yet, and we establish it as a condition that you do not attempt to kiss our child more than once, for fear you should set it crying and make our head ache."