HENRIETTE. Why, were you listening? GEORGE. No; but that’s what she used to call me once on a time. HENRIETTE. It was that day she said she was sure baby had recognized her and laughed at her. GEORGE. One day, too, I went into mother’s room here. The door was ajar, so that she didn’t hear me come in; and I found her looking at one of the little christening slippers she wanted baby to have, you know. HENRIETTE. Oh, yes. GEORGE. And then she took it up and kissed it. HENRIETTE. What did you say to her? GEORGE. Nothing. I went out as softly as I could and blew a kiss to her from the other side of the door. HENRIETTE. When nurse’s letter came the other day, it didn’t take her long to get ready and catch the 8.59. GEORGE. However, there wasn’t anything the matter. HENRIETTE. No; but still perhaps she was right. Perhaps I should have gone with her. GEORGE. Poor innocent little Henriette! You believe everything you are told. Now I saw at once what was up. The nurse simply wanted to humbug us into raising her screw. I bet she did. Look here, will you bet me she didn’t? Come, what will you have? Look here. I bet you that lovely necklace—you know, the one with the big pearl. HENRIETTE. No; I should be too much afraid of winning. GEORGE [_laughing_] Silly! I believe you think I don’t care for baby as much as you do. Why, you don’t even know how old she is! No, no, exactly! Let’s see. Aha! Ninety-one days and eight hours, there! [_He laughs_]. Ah, when she can get on by herself, then we’ll have her back with us. Six months more to wait. HENRIETTE. Six months is a long time to wait. When I think that if you had not put off our marriage for six months, we should have her back now! GEORGE. I have told you over and over again that I only did what was right. Just consider; how could I marry when the doctor told me I had traces of consumption? HENRIETTE. Your doctor is a donkey. As if you looked like a consumptive! GEORGE. Generally speaking, doctors are a bit that way, I grant. HENRIETTE. And you actually wanted to wait three or four years. GEORGE. Yes; to be quite certain I had nothing wrong with my lungs. HENRIETTE. You call me innocent, me! And here were you, just because a doctor— GEORGE. But you know it seems that I really had the beginning of some bronchial trouble. I used to feel something when I breathed rather hard—like that, only a little harder. There, that’s it. There was a sort of heaviness each side of my chest. HENRIETTE. It wasn’t anything to put off our marriage for. GEORGE [_getting up_] Yes, yes; I assure you I was right. I should have been wrong to expose you to the chance of having a consumptive husband. No; I’m not at all sorry we waited. Still, those specialists—I can afford to laugh at them now. If I knew someone now who was ill, I should tell him: ‘My dear chap, those bigwigs at forty francs a consultation—well, just don’t you consult them, you know!’ HENRIETTE. That one wanted four years to cure you!