"I hope you're not thinking of an abortion," he said. "A nasty, corrupt practice which has a bad effect on the woman who uses it."
"Oh, no," said Dot. "I want my baby."
"That's fine." Dr. Stewart smiled pleasantly. "You'll have it probably around the middle of July."
"Yes, it takes nine months, doesn't it?" said Dot, wishing to show that she was not an idiot about obstetrics.
Dr. Stewart nodded, but with reserve. "We figure it ten lunar months," he said.
"Oh, ten months?"
"Ten lunar months."
"Then it isn't nine months after all?"
"Well, it's ten lunar months."
"Oh, I see," said Dot, brightly, but she didn't. She was quiet for a few seconds; then: "I'd like to have you for the confinement," she said shyly.
Dr. Stewart seemed absorbed in his cigarette. "Yes, Mrs. Driggs spoke of that when she phoned me," he said. "I understood that she had spoken about the price and so forth to you."
"Yes—she said that you could—that you would—two hundred dollars."
Dr. Stewart nodded. "That means," he said, "that I will be here once every two weeks, deliver the baby, and see you every day for two weeks after."
Dot thought that would be very nice.
"I will be here again two weeks from today," Dr. Stewart said. He got up and put on his coat. He reached for his hat and bag.
"Sorry you're so sick at your stomach," he said. "But that condition will clear up soon. Try gelatine. You might be able to hold on to that for a while."
He smiled again and began the descent of the stairs. Dot held her door open until she heard the big downstairs
