‘Both, perhaps.’
‘Really, darling!’
‘I mean twins, you idiot! But if not it’ll be a girl, naturally: at least, I hope so.’
‘You mustn’t,’ said Albert. ‘I read somewhere that if you have been hoping for a girl and then it turns out to be a boy, it will have a nasty, perverted nature.’
‘How awful! And does the opposite hold good?’
‘Yes, I believe it does.’
‘Oh, poor sweet: we must be careful. We’d better say “he” and “her” alternately: you couldn’t call the angel “it”, could you? You know I feel quite friendly towards him already. I think she will be a great comfort to us, Walter.’
‘Yes, we were needing something to draw us together. Morris will be a bond between us.’
‘Oh, need it be Maurice? It’s not a name I have any feeling for.’
‘M-o-r-r-i-s.’ He spelt it out. ‘If we call him that, we might get one free for an advertisement. You never know your luck.’
‘Why not Bentley, then, or Rolls?’
‘No good. We couldn’t afford to keep it up if we had one. Suppose the angel’s a girl?’
‘Minerva, and pop it. Morris Monteath: Minerva Monteath. Not at all bad.’
‘Well, if we’re going to do that, we’d better call her lots of things and have them all free. Minerva, Sanitas, Electrolux, Chubb, Ritz (then we could live there) Monteath. And I could think of dozens more.’
‘Talking of living, where are we going to keep her: there’s precious little room in the flat for him.’
‘I can’t think. What an awful idea!’
‘I know,’ said Walter, ‘we can turn the cocktail chest into a cradle. My dear, what a good article for the Sunday papers:
TURN YOUR COCKTAIL CHESTS INTO CRADLES!
England Needs More Babies
and
Fewer Cocktails!
PRACTICAL and PATRIOTIC.
‘No, but seriously, where do people keep their babies: one never does see them about, somehow.’
‘I,’ said Albert, ‘am extremely shocked. I thought that when a woman discovered herself to be – well, “in an interesting condition,” as they say in the papers, that she beckoned her husband into the conjugal bedroom and whispered shyly into his ear: “Baby’s coming.” I didn’t know people went on like this, even in these days. I find it most painful and disillusioning, and shall leave you to what should, in my opinion, be your confidences. In other words, you are a pair of clowns, and I must go and work. It’s my great chance, as those Murgatroyds are out for the day and I shall have the billiard table to myself. I suppose I ought to congratulate you, Sally?’
He kissed her and left the room.
Jane had expected that he would ask her to go with him, but as he did not even look in her direction she forbore from suggesting it, and went for a dreary little walk alone till luncheon time.
During the next three days Albert completely neglected Jane, who was thrown into a state almost of frenzy by his behaviour. Ever since their midnight walk she had been eagerly awaiting an opportunity to tell him that she had now changed her mind, or rather that she knew her mind and was very definitely in love with him; but the opportunity did not come and it was Albert himself who prevented it. He not only took no particular notice of her, but actually went out of his way to avoid her.
Jane’s natural reaction to this treatment was to appear more than indifferent and cold towards him, whereas really she was in a perfect fever wondering what could so have altered his feelings. She began to think she must have dreamt the whole affair.
On the third morning Albert announced that he was going to begin his portrait of Sally. Jane felt that this was almost more than she could stand. Ever since Sally’s announcement of her pregnancy, Albert had paid attention to no one else. He and Walter had sat with her for hours on end discussing what the baby would be like, whether it would grow up to be an artist or a writer: (‘In point of fact, of course,’ said Albert, ‘he will probably be a well-known cricket pro.’) how much Sally would suffer at the actual birth, and various other aspects of the situation; and Jane was beginning to feel if not exactly jealous, at any rate, very much left out in the cold.
The thought of them closeted together all day – Albert occupied with gazing at Sally’s lovely face – was almost too much to bear. The fact that the Monteaths were completely wrapped up in each other was no consolation: it was more Albert’s neglect of herself than his interest in Sally that was overwhelming her. She thought that she had never been so unhappy.
All day she avoided the billiard-room where Albert was painting. She tried to read, and write letters, but was too miserable to concentrate on anything. At luncheon Albert sat next to Sally and appeared unable to take his eyes from her face. Immediately the meal was over he carried her off to resume the sitting. Jane, too restless to remain indoors, wandered out towards the kitchen garden, where she came upon Lady Prague, with a large basket, cutting lavender. Any company seemed in her state of mind better than none and she offered to help. Lady Prague, giving her a pair of scissors, told her to cut the stalks long, and for some time they snipped away in silence. Presently Lady Prague said:
‘If I were Walter Monteath I should be very much worried.’
‘Why?’ asked Jane, absent-mindedly.
‘Well, it’s rather obvious, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t want to make mischief, but one can’t help seeing that Mr Gates is violently in love with Sally, can one? And, if you ask me, I should say that she was more interested in him than she ought to be.’
Jane’s heart stood still: she thought she was going to faint. All the suspicions which she had entertained, almost without knowing it,
