“Three,” said Frances Mary. “Two girls and a boy.”
“I envy you,” said Elaine. “I have only one little boy. So bad for a child not to have any brothers and sisters.”
“Yes,” said Frances Mary politely. She looked down in her plate. The question was between them, large, unspoken: Well, why don’t you give him some?
Elaine turned to Wilfred. “How does the writing go?” she asked in her whole-hearted way.
Wilfred, thinking of Frances Mary, shivered for the speaker. What a false note to issue from the ringing Elaine! Once she stepped out of her charmed circle, she was but mortal clay. It endeared her to him.
“No better nor worse than usual,” he said, smiling unhappily. What could one answer to such a question?
“I haven’t come across your name lately,” said Elaine, meaning well.
This remark made the silent Fanny savage. Wilfred made haste to answer, lightly: “You wouldn’t. There are so many underground ways of making one’s living by the pen.”
From his wife’s somber glance he gathered that this had not helped him with her. Oh dear! Oh dear! he thought; why must everybody have so many corns to get trodden on!
Joe returned with a bland, blank face. He did not give a hang about them, Wilfred saw; indeed, he had probably recalled Wilfred to mind only with difficulty. But his politeness was perfect. It was Joe who saved the face of the situation.