taxicab, and had waved an amiable farewell from the pavement steps.
"Great dears!" said Capes, as the vehicle passed out of sight.
"Yes, aren't they?" said Ann Veronica, after a thoughtful pause. And then, "They seem changed."
"Come in out of the cold," said Capes, and took her arm.
"They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller," she said.
"You've grown out of them.... Your aunt liked the pheasant."
"She liked everything. Did you hear us through the archway, talking cookery?"
They went up by the lift in silence.
"It's odd," said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat.
"What's odd?"
"Oh, everything!"
She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. Capes sat down in the arm-chair beside her.
"Life's so queer," she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. "I wonder—I wonder if we shall ever get like that."
She turned a firelit face to her husband. "Did you tell him?"
Capes smiled faintly. "Yes."
"How?"
"Well—a little clumsily."
"But how?"
"I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, 'You are going to be a grandfather!'"
"Yes. Was he pleased?"
