"Then I like it. But I shall like the others—one of the others—best."
"My—wife."
"That—that makes me happiest, Roger. Your wife. Oh, it is the sweetest word in the world, that—and—"
He felt her warm face hide itself softly against his neck.
"Mother," he added.
"Yes—Mother," she repeated after him in an awed little voice. "Oh, I have dreamed of Mothers since I have been old enough to dream, Roger! My Mother—I never had one that I can remember, except in a dream. It must be wonderful to—to—have a Mother, Roger."
"And yet, I think, not quite so wonderful as to BE a Mother, my Nada."
"Listen!" she whispered.
"It is the Leaf Bud singing."
"A love song?"