Mrs. Yellam surrendered. What Alfred said remained in her ample mind, to be considered carefully at leisure. She abhorred extravagance. But, in March, she might have bought a warm muff for herself, had she been told by her doctor that she would die before June. Insensibly she adopted part of Alfred's new philosophy. She set before bride and groom the best plain food procurable; she piled logs on the open hearth; she put the two coffin-stools into a cupboard. And she read her Bible diligently, believing devoutly that she was basking in heavenly sunshine. The six weeks raced by, but Alfred's arm mended less rapidly. He was given three weeks' more leave. His business had picked up wonderfully ever since he was able to bestow upon it personal attention. Perhaps William Saint withdrew tentacles, waiting for better opportunities later on. Alfred didn't drive his 'bus, but he whipped up old customers, chaffing them pleasantly, avoiding reproaches. All the women liked his manners, which were easy without being too free. Fancy felt jealous at times, and couldn't hide it: a tribute to love which Alfred accepted in the right spirit. "I couldn't be unfaithful to you, if I tried," he whispered to her. "I love you so dearly that my heart warms to all females. I could kiss the ugliest just because you're my sweet wife." "Oh, Alfie, I couldn't bear that." He never left home without finding her on his return hovering about the wicket-gate, waving her hand as he appeared round the bend of the road, and hurrying to meet him with outstretched arms. Those spoke eloquently of the suffering which approaching separation must impose. Each refrained from mention of France. Alfred hoped that she would have something to console her, something intimately his and hers, when he went back to the front. From the first, husband and wife had discussed the possibility of children. "Are you afraid?" he asked, thinking of her mother. "Yes." "Ah-h-h. I'm not surprised to hear that." "I want to whisper something, Alfie." He inclined his head. She kissed his ear, murmuring: "I _am_ afraid--afraid it mayn't come. That's the only fear I have." He was profoundly moved, sensible that his feelings were the more tender because, before the war, he would have accepted paternity and all it implied as an ordinary happening. Till he had suffered himself--his wound had caused him intense pain--he had never thought of what women endure every time a child is born into the world. "What a brave dear you are!" She whispered again: "Would you like a He or a She?" Alfred insisted that first choice lay with her. "I want a boy." "I believe I should love a lil' maid best." "Better than you love me, maybe?" Having answered this in his own way, Alfred said abruptly: "If 'tis a maid, you must call her Lizzie. 'Twill please Mother. I can see the child traipsin' after her." Fancy said doubtfully: "Lizzie ain't a pretty name, Alfie. I thought of Alfreda--Freda for short."