"But the baby!" she said. Her wide eyes filled with tears and her voice broke weakly. "I wanted a baby."
"You've got a baby," he insisted, and now laughed outright. "There are two of them. Don't you understand, dear?"
Her eyes drooped shut, but the tears came welling out along her lashes. "Please take them away," she begged. And then, with a little sob she whispered, "I wanted a baby, not those."
Rodney started to speak, but some sort of admonitory signal from the nurse silenced him.
The nurse went away with her bundle, and Rodney stayed stroking her limp hand.
In the dark, ever so much later, she awoke, stirred a little restlessly, and the nurse, from her cot, came quickly and stood beside her bed. She had something in her hands for Rose to drink, and Rose drank it dutifully.
"Is there anything else?" the nurse asked.
"I just want to know," Rose said; "have I been dreaming, or is it true? Is there a baby, or are there twins?"
"Twins, to be sure," said the nurse cheerfully. "The loveliest, liveliest little pair you ever saw."
"Thank you," said Rose. "I just wanted to know."