‘No. He’d cry. I couldn’t endure it if he cried any more. I’ll keep him till he’s asleep.’
Solemn in his shawl, Peter bent his too-brilliant gaze upon her as she stooped to touch his cheek. He never smiled for her; but then neither did he greet her as he greeted most people with a clear: “Go ‘way.” He accepted her with grave politeness.
‘Do you like holding him?’
‘Yes,’ he said simply.
He was holding the child to comfort himself.
‘He’s very nice,’ she said. ‘What a different sort of childhood he’ll have from yours, with the others always round you! He’s likely to be the eldest of the next generation by a good deal, isn’t he?’
‘I should say so,’ he said bitterly. ‘I don’t mind betting not one of us provides a little cousin for him. I don’t see us breeding somehow. Unless possibly Martin....’
Not Roddy. No....
‘Well, you mustn’t let him be lonely.’
‘That’s her affair.’