"I fancy that I could feel perfect happiness, and yet—"
"And yet what?"
"And yet it seems as if, with all my blessings, that blessing was never likely to be granted to me. I should be perfectly happy now but for one little thing. I suppose you can't guess what that thing is?"
"I would rather you told me, Rosamond."
"Ever since our child was born, love, I have had a little aching at the heart—especially when we are all three together, as we are now—a little sorrow that I can't quite put away from me on your account."
"On my account! Lift up your head, Rosamond, and come nearer to me. I feel something on my hand which tells me that you are crying."
She rose directly, and laid her face close to his. "My own love," she said, clasping her arms fast round him. "My own heart's darling, you have never seen our child."
"Yes, Rosamond, I see him with your eyes."
"Oh, Lenny! I tell you every thing I can—I do my best to lighten the cruel, cruel darkness which shuts you out from that lovely little face lying so close to you! But can I tell you how he looks when he first begins to take notice? can I tell you all the thousand pretty things he will do when he first tries to talk? God has been very merciful to us—but, oh, how much more heavily the sense of your affliction weighs on me now when I am more to you than your wife—now when I am the mother of your child!"
"And yet that affliction ought to weigh lightly on your spirits, Rosamond, for you have made it weigh lightly on mine."