“He’s wired. He’s had a wire!” She pointed at his clenched hand.
Then he, too, looked down at his own hand. His fingers relaxed slowly
and a crush of red and grey paper slid to the floor.
“A son,” he said dully.
“Ah!” A cry from the corner by the fire eased the tension. Great-aunt
Serle was clapping her hands together. Her face was wrinkled all over
with delight. “The good girl! The pretty——And a son too! A little son!
Oh, the good girl!”