CHAPTER XXIX
THE PROCESSION OF LIFE
Late in May Betty was expecting to be confined; and Mark could see that Archibald tried in vain to conceal his anxiety. "One never knows how these affairs will end," he said a score of times to his brother, who replied, "Betty is strong; she will do well; you are foolish to borrow trouble." None the less, Mark's anxiety quickened also as the time approached, becoming the more poignant, possibly, because the birth of this baby emphasised his own isolation and loneliness. Betty as mother—and he felt sure that she would prove an admirable mother—appeared indescribably remote. Archibald as father, babbling already about his son, obstructed the horizon.
"The boy may reign at Pitt Hall," said Archibald. "George has written to say that he hopes it will be an heir—his word—because then he will feel at liberty to remain a bachelor. Do you think that Betty is as prudent as she ought to be?"
"She will do well, she will do well," Mark reiterated.
"You will come to us, Mark. I shall want you, you know."
"If you insist——"
"I don't think I could face it without you."
Betty added her entreaties. "I'm not afraid," she maintained; "but Archie is behaving like an old woman. Lady Randolph will be with me; I should feel easier if you were with Archie. How devoted you brothers are to each other!"
Mark hastily put up his hand to cover a smile which he felt to be derisive. Then he muttered awkwardly, "All right, I'll c-c-come."