"Come along, chickens." She stood at the doorway; her glance at Charles gathered him clearly—the line of lower eyelid, the angle of his chin. Marian slid down from his knee, sighing.
"Daddy read me a lovely story, all about a fairy prince."
She bent to kiss Marian good night, with a final pat to the blankets.
"I'll dream about a fairy prince, Muvver," came the child's voice, muffled as she snuggled out of reach of the cold wind.
Spencer's arms shot up about her throat, tugging her down where he could whisper.
"Moth-er, do you think I could have a radio receiving set?"
Catherine smiled.
"Well—" she hesitated. "You have a birthday before long. In March. I'll have to find out more about them. Could you wait?"
"Oh, Moth-er!" His hug was exuberant. "Moth-er darling!"