"Just begun," the doctor replied. Quinney hated him because he looked so blandly self-possessed and indifferent. "Mrs. Biddlecombe is with her," continued the doctor, in the same suavely impassive tone. "They will send for me later. Good-afternoon!" Quinney wanted to reply, "Oh, you go to blazes! I shall send for somebody else; a man, not a machine," but he merely glared at the doctor, and nodded. Pelting upstairs, two steps at a time, he encountered Mrs. Biddlecombe upon the landing, with her forefinger on her lip. "Not so much noise, _please_!" she commanded, with the air and deportment of an empress. It struck Quinney that she had expanded enormously. Also she was dressed for the part, wearing an imposing dressing-gown, and felt slippers. Quinney had an odd feeling that she was enjoying herself at Susie’s expense. Secretly he was furious, because she seemed to block the entrance to _his_ room. He tried to push past her. "Where are you going, Joseph?" He was quite confounded, but from long habit he replied in his jerky, whimsical way: "Into my room o’ course. Where did you think I was going? Into the coal cellar?" Mrs. Biddlecombe answered with majesty, not budging: "We"—Maria was indicated as an accomplice—"have got another room ready for you." Quinney said resolutely, "I’m a-going to stay with Susie till it’s over." "No, you ain’t!" "Yes, I am!" She gripped his arm. Her voice was coolly contemptuous, but she spoke with authority. "No, you ain’t. ’Tisn’t seemly." "That be damned!" "Joseph Quinney! And an innocent unborn babe might hear you! Now, listen to me, and do just as I tell you. Men ain’t wanted on these occasions. You can go in and see Susan for a few minutes, but, remember, out you go when I say the word. Try to be a help and not an hindrance. I sent for you because you may be wanted to run for the doctor." "Run from ’im more likely," said Quinney. "Cold-blooded beast." "He’s just what a gentleman should be at such times. You take pattern by him! Now, go in, don’t shout, say something cheerful, and leave the room when I nod." Throughout this speech Quinney was conscious that his will was ebbing from him. The mother-in-law triumphed by virtue of superior knowledge and experience. Quinney respected knowledge. "But if Susie wants me to stay——?" "She won’t." He entered the room. Somehow he had expected to find his wife in bed, pale, frightened, passive. She was walking up and down. Her cheeks were red, her eyes were bright. And yet there was something about her, some hunted expression in the tender eyes, some nervous tension which moved the man tremendously. His eyes brimmed with tears, his voice broke, as he called her by name. For a moment they clung to each other, and he wondered at her strength. Mrs. Biddlecombe, frowned portentously. There were moments when she told herself that Susan had married a very common person. "That’ll do," she said. "We don’t want any flustrations."