"Did she?"
"No! Aren't you going to tell me either?"
He dropped into a chair opposite her; she sat on the piano-stool considering him for a while in silence. Then, dropping her arms with a helpless little gesture:
"We are going to have a baby. Are you—annoyed?"
For a second he sat as though paralysed, and the next second he had her in his arms, the grin breaking out from utter blankness.
"You're a corker, ducky!" he whispered. "You for me all the time!"
"Jim!... Really?"
"Surest thing you know! Which is it?—boy or—Oh, I beg your pardon, dear—I'm not accustomed to the etiquette. But I'm delighted, ducky, overwhelmed!"
"Oh, Jim! I'm so glad. And I'm crazy about it—perfectly mad about it.... And you're a dear to care——"
"Certainly I care! What do you take me for—a wooden Indian!" he exclaimed virtuously. "Come on and we'll celebrate——"