He saw his mother cover her eyes and Winifred bow her face towards the bed. Women! They put up with things so much better than men. He took a step nearer to his father. For three days James had not been shaved, and his lips and chin were covered with hair, hardly more snowy than his forehead. It softened his face, gave it a queer look already not of this world. His eyes opened. Soames went quite close and bent over. The lips moved.

“Here I am, Father:”

“Um⁠—what⁠—what news? They never tell.⁠ ⁠…” the voice died, and a flood of emotion made Soames’ face work so that he could not speak. Tell him?⁠—yes. But what? He made a great effort, got his lips together, and said:

“Good news, dear, good⁠—Annette, a son.”