"Good heavens, speak, Augustin!" implored Titania.
The band of lovers went as white as Augustin; they stood up simultaneously.
"I see it, I see it," said Bob, and he actually snatched the paper from Lord Bradstock's hand.
"Is she married? Is she dead?" asked Titania.
"No, no," said Bob, sputtering and aflame with wild excitement; "it's 'Brading—Lady Penelope Brading on the 18th of a son!'"
CHAPTER XIV.
There are blows which stun; this was, of course, one of them. Titania did not shriek or faint at the awful intelligence conveyed by the Thunderer of Printing House Square. She nodded her head as if she was partially paralyzed, and at last murmured in a dry whisper:
"Of a son! Of a son!"
Bradstock's eyebrows were as high as they would go, and he stared at Titania, and then look around on the circle of men and women. Ethel squeaked a little squeak, like a mouse behind the wainscot and was silent.
"Oh—of a son," said Goby, sighing and looking at the floor.