"Ted," she said, sitting down in her favourite chair, "I'm not going to give in, whatever happens." She shut her lips with something of the decision I had often noted in her father's face.
"Dearest, we must not make mountains out of molehills. Wait until we know."
"No, Ted, we must think. There's the baby to consider—as well as ourselves."
I sat down beside her and held her tight. She was quite dry-eyed.
"Ted, if anything should happen—I said, sweetheart, if anything should happen, I want you to make me a promise."
"Yes," I said.
"Promise me that you will always take care of the baby. Don't let any one else take her away. She is to stay with you—and it is you, and only you, who can make her happy."
"I promise," I whispered, burying my head in her lap.
"And now, Ted dearest, we are to go on just as before until we see the doctor next week. I'm going up to dress for dinner. Will you telephone for the horses to be brought round in the morning? Not before ten."
"Very well, dear."