"Shh, please." Ellen was burping the tiny infant who, wrapped in swaddling clothes and balanced shapelessly on her shoulder, was staring at Channing out of big, solemn eyes. The lips puckered, not all at once but slowly, building up a head of steam. Burp and frightened wail issued forth at the same instant. "What do you mean, it's yours?" Channing demanded. But the facts were plain enough. The spare room had been converted to a nursery, all done in pink, with crib and bath-gadget and nightstand and a little pink diaper pail. "Do you like the name Stephanie?" Ellen asked, gently placing the infant in her crib and cooing at her until the wail subsided. Incredulously, Channing stepped across the threshold to have a closer look. Stephanie puckered and wailed again, drumming tiny legs under the swaddling clothes. "You're frightening her," said Ellen. "Will you please tell me what's going on here?" "Only if you lower your voice." "There," Channing told his wife in a furious whisper which made Stephanie shriek. "Now tell me." "Dr. Lang said I couldn't have a baby for two more years. You know that. When I heard about the babies Qui Dor Enterprises were--" "So now it's enterprises," Channing shouted. Stephanie drowned him out. "She's pretty, isn't she?" Stephanie's small, snub-nosed face was pink with fury. The mouth opened wide and hollered. "I don't care if she's going to grow up and be Miss Universe. By the way, does--does she actually grow up?" "What's the matter with you, Bryan Channing? Of course she grows up. She's real." "As real as that food cabinet. How much did she cost?" "I won't tell you while you're mad like that." "Don't you see how fantastic this is?" Channing pleaded, "We can't go around with a fake baby." "Fake? How dare you!" "Yes, fake. How would you go about entering her in school when she's four years old, for instance?" "We'll worry about that in four years, but don't you call Stephanie fake. Anyway, Qui Dor is selling so many babies, provisions will have have to be made." "That's what the salesman told you. The Viennese." "Yes. But if you had to clean up the mess she makes, you wouldn't call her fake." "She goes," Channing said, pointing theatrically at the door, then regretting it. How did he ever get to be a diplomat, anyway? Ellen ignored him. "You know, dear, I think she looks like you. I was able to select my own features and weight and everything. At birth she weighed six pounds. She's two weeks old now and already gained a pound." "At birth? Two weeks?" "Well, you know what I mean. She would have, if she--" "Oh, then you admit it?" said Channing in triumph. "She isn't real." "Well, she wasn't born like--like other babies. But she's real. You may hold her if you want." "I don't want." "Just to convince you." "Let's not go through that again." "You're shouting. You're making Stephanie cry. What's the matter with you, Bryan?"