.

when there's a small son to be thought about and planned for and loved, you'll find that what I say is true." "It might chance to be a small daughter," suggested Nan snubbily, and Roger's face fell a little.

"So, meanwhile, as I haven't a baby and I _have_ a concerto, come along and listen to it." He nodded and followed her into the West Parlour.

A cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, a big lounge chair drawn up invitingly beside it, while close at hand stood a small table with pipe, tobacco pouch, and matches lying on it in readiness.
Roger smiled at the careful arrangement.
"What a thoughtful child it's becoming!" he commented, taking up his pipe.
"Well, you can listen to music much better if you're really comfy," said Nan.

"Sit down and light your pipe--there, I'll light it for you when you've finished squashing the 'baccy down into it." Roger dropped leisurely into the big chair, filled and lit his pipe, and when it was drawing well, stretched out his legs to the logs' warm glow with a sigh of contentment.
"Now, fire away, sweetheart," he said.