“Sure? Of course I’m sure! I’ve seen it, haven’t I? I tell you, it is Chinese. Nothing on earth would make me believe that it was Ivy’s child at all—if I didn’t know.”
“Has she seen it—seen it as you have?”
“She’s seen it, and I suppose she saw it. She saw a speck of fluff or something on his coat when King-lo gave her a drink, and laughed at him for being untidy, and flicked it off.”
“Did she seem to mind?” Snow asked.
“Mind? Mind a speck of fluff? Oh, the baby! Mind the awful Chinese look of it? She didn’t seem to, but she must. And she’ll hate it! How she’ll hate it!”
“I hope not,” Charles Snow said gently.
“Of course she’ll hate it. I hate it now! And King-lo ‘minded’!”
“How do you know?” Snow asked quickly.
“Oh, I don’t know—but he did. How can I explain every single thing to you? You ought to know by yourself. I’m too upset to go on talking forever. He minded terribly, I tell you. He went to the window and stood looking for ages—at nothing. Even his back minded. He never stirred until Ivy called him back to her. He minds. I nearly dropped. Don’t you mind, Charles?”
“I’m not glad,” Sir Charles said gravely.