“No, I suppose not. Oh, I daresay I’m an ass, going on like this.”
She sat up, looking more like the author of “Modern Rhymes.” Rose, who had always been a little afraid of her, now had the privileged thrill of those who behold the great in their cheaper moments.
“You’ll be all right, dear,” she said meaningly “in three months’ time.”
“All right, or utterly done in. O God, why can’t someone find out a way of deciding the sex of children? I’d give all I possess and a bit over to be sure this is going to be a boy. Not that I want a boy myself—I like girls much better—but I don’t want to see Peter go off his head or off with Stella Mount.”
“I don’t believe she’s got a single chance against you once you’re yourself again. Even now I could bet anything that it’s all on her side.”
“She’s got no chance against me as a woman, but as an Ancient Habit she can probably do a lot with a man like Peter. But I’m not going to worry about her any more—I’ve given way and made an utter fool of myself, and it’s done me good, as it always does. Rose, you promise not to say a word of this to anyone.”
“Of course I won’t. But I might try to get at the facts....”
“For God’s sake don’t. You’ll only make a mess.”
As she revived she was recovering some old contempt for her sister-in-law.