She felt terribly modern, even sporty as the magazines declared you should be. “Bring any new songs you may have. Enjoy. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. Always I have said I will take care of myself, and I have done so. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. There you are! Girl spoilt for life. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk.
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