“What way, Thyrsis?”
“By not being really married. He says you are suffering because of it.”
“But Thyrsis!” she cried, in astonishment. “I’m not!”
“He says you wouldn’t know it, Corydon. It would keep you nervous and upset.”
“But dear,” she said, “I’m perfectly happy!”
“Are you sure of it?”
“Perfectly sure.”
“And—and if it was ever otherwise—you would tell me?”
“Why, yes.”
“And are you sure of that?”
She hesitated; and when she tried to answer, her voice was a whisper—”I think so, dear.”
There was a pause. “Thyrsis,” she exclaimed, suddenly, “I would have a child!”
“No, you needn’t,” he said; and he told her what the doctor had said.
It was quite as new to her as it had been to him, and even more startling. “I see,” she said, in a low voice.
“Listen, Corydon,” he whispered, “
