When Dereham had gone, Kate came and stood by the mantelshelf, and looked down at her husband, who was sprawling contentedly in his big easy-chair. He was well satisfied with their little luncheon-party. Truth to tell, he had been anxious as to the effect which Kate would produce on this half-tender, half-cynical friend of his butterfly days; it was not, he told himself, that he really cared a straw that his own opinion should be endorsed, but he did shrink from the thought that Dereham might go away and vaguely pity him--that smacked too much of insult to his wife. Dereham, however, had left no doubt of his admiration for Kate. As he shook Griff's hand at the door, he had muttered, "You'll do, old fellow. Can I come to see your wife again?" And this meant more than it seemed--it meant, in brief, that he envied his friend his prize. And a man likes to feel this, be he never so secure in his own judgment. So, being content, it did not occur to Griff that there was any underlying trouble in his wife's eyes--though the trouble was more in evidence than it had been when he noticed it the night before. She crept to his knee presently, and took his two big hands in hers. "Griff!" "Yes, little woman? How very solemn we sound." "You won't be angry if I ask you a question? Did I--did I shame you, Griff, before your friend? I know so little of the world, and----" "Child, be quiet! How dare you hint at such a thing?" Griff was frowning more than he knew of. He hated this resurrected doubt, after it had been laid to rest once and for all; he had not been proud of himself for feeling it, and Kate had no business to allow it to come into her head. She saw the frown. Her lip trembled. The next moment she had buried her face, and was sobbing like a child. "Wife, wife! what is it all about? Did I speak harshly? I didn't mean to; only, it was so absurd that you could shame me in any one's eyes, and--Kate, what is it? You have never given way like this before." She made no answer for a long while; when she did raise her head at last, it was to whisper something that set strange new pulses beating in the man. He understood now; and as he took her on his knee and let her cry it out against his shoulder, all his wildness seemed to have merged into one steady wave of tenderness. And then Kate laughed, low and soft, with a note in her voice that dated forward. "He is to be a boy, Griff--he _must_ be a boy--and--and--you will not be ashamed of _him_ when he comes, will you, dear?" CHAPTER XX. THE FIGHT AT THE QUARRY EDGE.