"Well, I think that is a very nice piece of news," said Mrs. Greene warmly, "I shall thoroughly enjoy having a grandnephew or niece, and you must let me pay your doctor and help you in any way I can. As a matter of fact I get tired sometimes of hearing my sister-in-law talking of her great-grandchild and all her grandchildren. You don't know old Mrs. Greene do you? She's a delightful woman, but sometimes I feel she forgets there are other young couples in the world besides Lavinia and Martin and the young Geoffreys, and now the Hughs." "Thank you ever so much, Aunt Sarah, it's lovely of you, and it will be a weight off Roger's mind. He does work so hard, and he earns so little." Mary's voice rose almost to a wail, but Aunt Sarah only said crisply: "Oughtn't you to go and see the cook now? You mustn't bother about me; I'll write a letter or two before I go out." Young Mrs. Dodds gulped a little and blew her nose, but as the parlourmaid came in, cast an injured glance at the two ladies still sitting over the breakfast table and then swept out with pursed lips, she was sufficiently in command of herself to laugh and say, "I shan't mind getting rid of her anyhow. She's horribly haughty." Mrs. Greene left alone, sat for a moment in thought before she crossed the hall to the small living room. She wondered how Roger's inadequate income was going to be stretched to meet the demands of the unborn child which was already beginning to assume a definite importance in her mind. I'm as bad as Margaret, she thought; I didn't really care so very much when her great-grandchild was born, and yet it was my great-grandnephew after all. But there is something more intimate about this one; it's a Dodds, and I feel possessive about it. Odd that after being Mrs. Hugh Greene for nearly fifty years, I should still be Sarah Dodds. Her thoughts turned back to Roger; something ought to be done for him; his position in the rather depressing solicitor's office where he worked was unsatisfactory. As Ellen again entered the room, armed with a formidable frown and a tray, Mrs. Greene went across the hall and sat down to write. She found herself unable to concentrate on her letters. Either the thought of the impending interview was draining her of her usually resolute vitality, or the news that Mary had given her had provoked an emotional reaction. Her heart stirred almost painfully as she thought of Roger, his enduring good qualities, his affection for her, his social inadequacy and uncouthness that concealed a good brain and a sense of humour. She had been pleased with his marriage to Mary, the least exacting of women, unaware of most of her husband's deficiencies, and tolerant of those she recognised. A small sinister idea insinuated itself into Mrs. Greene's mind. Unaware that she spoke aloud she formulated her fear in words. "Perhaps on this bright November day I shall have to make my will, and then Mary need not economise over her baby."