Quinney carried the jar to her house late that afternoon, and he told Susan that she was a clever dear. "You like the work?" he asked. She hesitated. "I like being with you, Joe." "Good! You can consider yourself permanently engaged, Mrs. Quinney." "Permanently?" His quick ear detected an odd inflection. He glanced at her sharply, and saw a faint blush. In silence they stared at each other. Then Quinney kissed her, pinched her cheek, pulled her small ear, as he said boisterously: "Ho! Another job in view?" She whispered: "I—I think so." *CHAPTER V* *SUSAN PREPARES* *I* When Susan left the shop and returned to her own house to make preparations for a visitor, she went unwillingly, postponing the hour that meant separation from the man she loved, making light of his anxiety, but secretly rejoicing in it. Her faithful heart dwelt with apprehension upon a future spent apart from Joe, apart from the excitements of the shop, a future of small things and small people. She tried to visualize herself as a mother and the vision was blurred. When she said rather timidly, "What will you do without me?" he had assured her with vain repetitions that he had more than enough to occupy his mind. The dolorous conclusion was inevitable. Joe could get along without a partner in the shop. But she could not conceive of life without him. During this period of intermittent joys and fears, chasing each other daily and nightly through her brain, Susan was humorously conscious that Joe regarded the coming baby as his rather than hers. He would say, chuckling, "Well, Mrs. Q., how is _my_ baby this morning? Any news of him?" The sex of the child was taken for granted. Susan had sufficient obstinacy and spirit to resent this cocksure attitude. From the first she maintained that it would be a girl. Mrs. Biddlecombe was much shocked at the intimate nature of conversations carried on before her. The good woman belonged to a generation which never mentioned babies till they lay in bassinettes, fit to be seen and worshipped by all the world. Quinney trampled upon these genteel sensibilities. "The kid _is_ comin’—ain’t it?" "We hope so," replied his mother-in-law austerely. "We know it, old dear. Why not talk about it? Joe Quinney, junior! There you are!" "It sounds so—indelicate." "That be blowed for a tale! Lawsy, there’s no saying what my son may not be. Think o’ my brains and his dear little mother’s looks." Worse followed. He began to call Susan "mother." Mrs. Biddlecombe protested in vain. Laburnum Row laughed openly. Everybody knew! One terrible morning, a disgusting small boy shouted after her, "Hullo, gran’ma!"