“She’s with child,” Maurice told him in their room at Millthorpe. Alec made no reply. He watched the rain on the greening hills through the window. Then he asked, “Is she well?” “Healthy, you mean?” “Yeah, comfortable?” “Far as I can tell. She didn’t complain of any illness. Her face is quite serene, even radiant.” “Ah…” “But she’s troubled, very…” “Of course.” “There’s the marriage thing.” “The father’s dead?” “No, alive.” “Oh? Then he’s got to—” “He’s married.” “Oh…” Alec shifted in the old overstuffed armchair. “Even so, there’s a duty on his part—” “Alec, the man’s … not English.”
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