She could hear the water bubbling; the lid began making little tentative leaps.

Without lifting her eyes, she made the tea.
Ronnie talked on volubly.

It was so perfect to be back in his own chair; to watch Helen making tea; and to have the Infant safely there to show her.
Helen did not seem quite so much interested or so enthusiastic as he had expected.
Suddenly he remembered Aubrey's joke.
Helen at that moment was handing him his cup of tea.

He took it, touching her fingers with his own as he did so; a well-remembered little sign between them, because the first time it had dawned upon Helen that Ronnie loved her, and wanted her to know it, was on a certain occasion when he had managed to touch her fingers with his, as she handed him a cup of tea.
He did so now, smiling up at her.

He was so happy, that things were becoming a little dream-like again; not a nightmare--that would be impossible with Helen so near--but an exquisite dream; a dream too perfectly beautiful to be true.
"Darling," he said, "I brought the Infant home in a canvas bag.