"I have," he said sternly. "I paid it yesterday."
She breathed freely.
Majendie found Mrs. Hannay by her fireside, alone but cheerful. She gave him a little anxious look as she took his hand. "Wallie," said she, "you're depressed. What is it?"
He owned to the charge, but declined to give an account of himself.
She settled him comfortably among her cushions; she told him to light his pipe; and while he smoked she poured out consolation as she best knew how. She drew him on to talk of Peggy.
"That child's going to be a comfort to you, Wallie. See if she isn't. I wanted you to have a little son, because I thought he'd be more of a companion. But I'm glad now it's been a little daughter."
"So am I. Anne would have fidgeted frightfully about a son. But Peggy'll be a help to her."
"And what helps her will help you, my dear; mind that."
"Oh, rather," he said vaguely. "The worst of it is she isn't very strong. Peggy, I mean."
"Oh, rubbish," said Mrs. Hannay. "I was a peaky, piny baby, and look at me now!"