"I'm afraid it is, Charles."
"But what is?"
"An heir, perhaps."
It was some moments before I took in the sense of the words. Then I laughed.
"Oh well, Blanche! Of course you ought to talk of separation with that in prospect! Go and put your things on, you silly child: the evening is wearing away."
And she left the room.
Side by side on the sofa, Blanche's fair head pillowed upon his breast, his arm thrown round her. She had taken off her bonnet and mantle, and was crying quietly.
"Be calm, my dear sister. It is all for the best."
"Tom, Tom, how came you to do it?"