In November her twins were born, strong and beautiful.
She named them Michael and Marigold, expecting opposition, but the names charmed everyone. Uncle Johnnie was reported as pretending to think they were called Patrick and Petunia, but nothing was sacred to Uncle Johnnie.
Toward the end of her convalescence she granted an audience to Gobby. Coming noiselessly to the door of her sitting room, she found him with his back to her, bending, scooping up something—what on earth was he doing? Then she realized he was practicing kissing a hand of air, and, tactfully withdrawing, made a more audible entrance, and received on her own hand the result of his practice.
"Christabel, I didn't think you could be more beautiful, but you are. I'm not being personal!"
"Dear Gobby! It's wonderful to see you again."
"That Madonna-blue chiffon! And the way
