"Good, good! You startled me, standing there in the door like a messenger of doom. I thought for a moment—well, things wouldn't be the same without little Annie, would they?"
They had moved into Cliff's apartment, and Webb shrugged out of his jacket. The spacious quarters and expensive appointments reminded Webb of Clifford's wealth.
"The robot business must be thriving," Webb remarked. "Anne didn't mention such luxury over here."
"The girl is tactful, my friend. Tactful, sweet, intelligent."
Webb looked up quickly. He had seated himself, and Clifford stood before him in a stiff, almost challenging pose. "Am I welcome here?" the physician asked bluntly.
"Certainly, certainly. We'll always welcome you here. Nothing need be changed just because Anne is to have a child. Nothing, that is, except the customary observance of monogamous convention until the child is born and raised."
A pound of lead sagged in Webb's stomach. "Then—Anne has named you for paternity?"
Clifford's slender, well-made body lost itself in the precise center of an over-size chair, he looked at Webb thoughtfully. "Well, practically. We were discussing it the other night when she had the first symptoms of this attack." He rubbed his hairless chin. "Why? Did you especially aspire to the noble station of parenthood?"
The lazy sarcasm was salt in the wound. With difficulty, Webb kept his face expressionless. "When I heard the news, naturally I gave the possibility some consideration. That's why I came over here."
"I see. Anne didn't tell you."