baby in her arms when she came to meet him.

"Hello, Daddy. Here we are! How are you, dearest?" Rachael would
say, adding, before he could answer her: "We want you to notice
our chic Italian socks, Doctor Gregory; how's that for five
months? Take him, Greg! Go to Daddy, Little Mister!"

"All very well, but how's my wife?" Warren Gregory might ask,
kissing her over the baby's bobbing head.

"Lovely! Do you know that your son weighs fifteen pounds--isn't
that amazing?" Rachael would hang on his free arm, in happy wifely
fashion, as they went back to the house.

"Want to go with me to London?" he asked her one day in the late
fall when they were back in town.

"Why not Mars?" she asked placidly, putting a fresh, stiff dress
over Jimmy's head.

"No, but I'm serious, my dear girl," Warren Gregory said
surprised. "But--I don't understand you. What about Jim?"

"Why, leave him here with Mary. We won't be gone four weeks."

Rachael smiled, but it was an uneasy, almost an affronted, smile.

"Oh, Warren, we couldn't! I couldn't! I would simply worry myself
sick!"