"Shh, please." Ellen was burping the tiny infant who, wrapped in swaddling clothes and balanced shapelessly on her shoulder, was staring at Channing out of big, solemn eyes. The lips puckered, not all at once but slowly, building up a head of steam. Burp and frightened wail issued forth at the same instant.
"What do you mean, it's yours?" Channing demanded. But the facts were plain enough. The spare room had been converted to a nursery, all done in pink, with crib and bath-gadget and nightstand and a little pink diaper pail.
"Do you like the name Stephanie?" Ellen asked, gently placing the infant in her crib and cooing at her until the wail subsided.
Incredulously, Channing stepped across the threshold to have a closer look. Stephanie puckered and wailed again, drumming tiny legs under the swaddling clothes.
"You're frightening her," said Ellen.
"Will you please tell me what's going on here?"
"Only if you lower your voice."
"There," Channing told his wife in a furious whisper which made Stephanie shriek. "Now tell me."
"Dr. Lang said I couldn't have a baby for two more years. You know that. When I heard about the babies Qui Dor Enterprises were—"
"So now it's enterprises," Channing shouted. Stephanie drowned him out.