best not to notice her. Maybe he'd get mad sometime and tell her what he thought of her for not wanting a kid. But he knew that he couldn't. After all, it was her pain. No wonder she cried and didn't want the baby.
Dot looked up at him as he carried the butter to the ice box. Suppose she had danced her baby to death. Could she ever forgive Eddie for not taking the news as hard as she would? He wouldn't mind. He'd be able to say that everything happens for the best.
She dried her eyes and rushed to help clear the table.
"Sit down," he said.
"No, I'll help."
"Go on. Sit down."
She went and sat down. He was good to her. Lie loved her. If only he would love the baby. Oh, well, a person can't have everything, and maybe after it was here and he saw it, he would get to care about it. She wondered if he knew that there'd be no more dancing and parties then. Better not tell him for a while.
Dr. Stewart came two days later. His coat was not yet off when Dot asked her question timidly, quaveringly. "I have danced an awful lot recently. Do you think that it will hurt—hurt the baby? I haven't felt any life yet."
He looked at her seriously. He was one to laugh only at what he knew a patient knew in her heart to be foolish. When she had a deadly fear, he read it in her eyes, in her voice, and he respected her fear.
"I don't think so," he replied. "We'll have a look. Just what do you call an awful lot of dancing?"
The sheet was produced, the examination made.
"You're quite all right," he said. "But I wouldn't overdo anything if I were you. On the whole I think a daily walk would be much better exercise than dancing. And don't hang curtains. I've found a lot of women who hang curtains at the wrong time."
