"But he's my child," protested Louis.
"Not yet! In six months' time, perhaps. But you've enough worries, real worries, without making them up. There, dear heart, I don't mean to be cross with you. But you're such an idiot, and I'm so sleepy."
They said good night once more, and she was falling asleep when he pulled her hair gently. He was frowning, with deep lines on his forehead.
"But look here, old lady. If we're going right away from everywhere without any home, where's the child going to be born?"
"On the battlefield," she murmured sleepily.
He groaned, and once more his impatient twistings snatched the blanket away.
"Oh damn the Keltic imagination! Why can't you get a grip on things and be practical?"
Once more she was wide-awake, laughing with intense enjoyment.
"I can't see what there is to laugh at," he protested. "Marcella, has it occurred to you what sort of heritage this kiddy of ours has?"
Purposely misunderstanding him she flung out both arms wide, to embrace the whole of Australia, bush and forest, mountain, river and desert from sea to sea.