So Elizabeth related a long story concerning the cow, punctuated by comments and stern questions from the auditor. Ribald suggestions came from Stephen, and a remark that the story would make fine melodrama.

Elizabeth ran dry at last, and ended the tale. Christopher digested it in silence, and looked so seraphic that Elizabeth hugged him and cried:

“Oh you noble angel!”

Over his head she met Stephen’s eyes, and grew rather paler as she read the thought in them. She put Christopher down. Did Stephen want a son so badly? Their eyes held for a moment, her’s wide with dawning realization. It was Stephan who looked away first, and who flushed, not Elizabeth.

“What is you staring at uncle for?” demanded Christopher, displeased at Elizabeth’s sudden neglect of himself.

“Was I, Darling,” she said, bending over him.

Stephan rose.

“I must get on with my work,” he said, rather strained, and went out of them room.

Anthony and Cleopatra came at the end of the month to claim their offspring. Christopher welcomed them jubilantly, and in a state of wild excitement tried, in one sentence, to tell his mother all that he had done.

The Ruthvens stayed over the weekend, and the faithless Christopher had no further use for his aunt and uncle. He proceeded to tell Cynthia of Auntie’s unheard of stupidity in various minor details.

“Marmar, when Auntie barfed him she didn’t put a towel in the airwing cupboard!” he said in a shocked voice. “An’ she didn’t put his socks on afore his vest!”

“My son this is awful,” Cynthia said solemnly. “I hope you told her how to do it properly.”

“He did,” Elizabeth said, grimacing.

“Most conscientiously,” Stephen nodded. “Even my way of telling well-worn stories was hopelessly wrong.”

“I shall miss him awfully,” Elizabeth sighed.

Cynthia looked up for an instant, but said nothing.

Chapter Thirty-One

In March Elizabeth came hurrying into the library one morning in a state of great agitation.

“Stephen, what am I to do? They’re trying to rope me into the Mothers’ Union or something. Meetings and blankets and horrible coal tickets!”

“Who’s trying to rope you in?”

“Lady Ribblemere, and Mrs. Edmondston, and Mrs. Fraser. I don’t want to, Stephen!”

“Well, don’t,” he said coolly.

“Yes, but everybody seems to belong to the Union, or whatever it is.”

“All the more reason for keeping out of it.”

“But I don’t know how to keep out of it without being rude! They all urge me to join and help my fellow-creatures. I don’t want to.”

“My darling, there’s no earthly reason why you should. You’re much too young. Say I won’t hear of it.”

“They wouldn’t believe me. And it seems too rude and disobliging to refuse.”

Stephen pointed an accusing finger.

“Elizabeth-Anne, depart!”