"Oh--my--dear!" said Mrs. Amber. The two women gazed into each other's eyes, and while a half-pleased expression stole through the solicitude in Mrs. Amber's, Marie's were wide with fear. "Are you sure, duck?" said the elder woman, her knitting dropped in her lap. "Sure," Marie murmured hoarsely. "I've been afraid--and I waited before I told you. But I'm sure. It--it'll be next summer--in the hot weather, just when we'd have been going away to the sea. We shan't be able to afford to go to Littlehampton next year." "An only child," said Mrs. Amber comfortingly, "is a mistake. It's almost cruel to have an only child. You'll be much better with two than one." "How can you say so? All that to go through again--" "Oh, duck, I know! But it won't be so bad next time; anyone'll tell you that. Ask your doctor." "I shan't have the doctor till I'm obliged." "I'm sure Osborn would wish you to--" "How do you know what Osborn would wish?" And she said as so many rebellious women have said before her: "He promised I should never have another. He was crying. I've never told you before, but he was. He cried; and promised me." "Cried!" Mrs. Amber echoed aghast. "Poor fellow, oh, poor fellow! Osborn has a very good heart. The dear boy!" "What about me, mother? Where's your sympathy for me? I cried, too." "We're different." "No, we aren't. And he _promised_." "Oh, my duck," said Mrs. Amber in a voice of confidential bustle, "that's not to be depended on. Men always promise these things; I've known it scores of times. But it doesn't do to depend upon them, love." "I despise men." "Oh, don't say that, like Miss Winter. I never did approve of that girl." "She's wiser than I. She won't marry." "I guess she hasn't had the chance," said Mrs. Amber, with the disbelief of the old married woman in spinster charms. "Oh, yes, she has, mother. She's had several chances. But she knows when she's lucky; she's her own mistress, and she has her own money and her freedom." "She's missing a great deal; and some day she'll know it." "She knows it now, thank you. She knows she's missing illness and pain and poverty and worry, and the whims and fancies and bad tempers of a husband." Mrs. Amber said soothingly: "Now, now, my dear, you're not yourself, or you wouldn't say such things. It's every woman's duty to marry if she can and have children. As to your husband, it's no use expecting anything of men but what you get; and the sooner you realise it, my love, the happier you'll be." "I'll never realise it!" Marie fired. "Then you'll never settle down contentedly as you ought to." "Why ought I, mother?" "Because there's nothing else to be done," replied Mrs. Amber sensibly. "You're right there," Marie moaned, with her forehead against the chair back, "there's nothing else to be done." "What does Osborn say now about a second baby?" "He doesn't know."