Hilary said, "After all, there's no great cause for rejoicing in a man's being born into the world to trouble; I suppose she feels that. It will make it more difficult than ever for them and for us to make both ends meet."
"Oh, meet," groaned Peggy, "that's not what there's any thought of their doing in these days, my dear. If one can bring them within a mile of one another, one's thankful for small mercies."
Hilary rested his head on his hand and sighed.
"Have you spoken to Peter yet about appealing to the Urquharts?" he asked.
"Darling, I have not, and I'm not going to. Why should I annoy the poor child to no purpose? He'll not appeal to the Urquharts, we know that well, and I'm not going to waste my breath. I'd far rather—"
"What?" asked Hilary, as she paused.
"Oh well, I don't know. Don't you worry about ways and means; something will surely turn up before long." Peggy was an optimist.
"And anyhow," went on Peggy, to change the subject from ways and means, which was a depressing one, "isn't our little Peter a darling with his baby? I love to see them together. He washes it himself as often as not, you know; only he can't always catch it again when it slips through his hands, and that worries him. He's dreadfully afraid of its getting drowned or spoilt or lost or something."
"It probably will," said Hilary, who was a pessimist. "Peter is no hand at keeping things. We are not a fortunate family."
"Never mind, darling; we've kept three; and more by token Kitty must have a new pair of boots this winter; she's positively indecent the way she goes about now. I can't help it, Hilary; you must pawn your ring again or something."