“But of course I will. She’ll come here, will she, this Mary Grace?”

“I thought when the baby was born.”

“Not until then?”

“You can’t think about that sort of thing while you’re waiting for the baby. Besides, it will be better when you are quite normal again.”

“I like the idea,” she said.

“You can write to Mary Grace. I’ll take the letter back with me. You could ask her down for a week or two. She would fit it in. She works very quickly. The whole thing will be completed by Christmas.”

“How glad I am to have you here! It makes life exciting!”

“What! You need me when you have an adoring husband and baby whose arrival is imminent? You still need your sister!”

“Always,” she said earnestly. “You are not just an ordinary sister. You are a part of me.”

Our stay was a brief one. I saw Jowan Jermyn once. I told him then that I should be down again in November and that this was just a birthday celebration. We drank mulled wine in a hotel two or three miles out of Poldown and he said as we parted: “I shall see more of you in November. You won’t make it such a short visit then, I presume.”

I said I was unsure. I might even stay until after Christmas.

“We haven’t decided yet what we shall do,” I explained. “My parents would like Dorabella to come home for Christmas, but it will be too soon for the baby to travel.”

“You will be here,” he said.

Gordon was a little more approachable. The memory of our adventure lingered on. He said how pleased he was that we were here and Dorabella seemed to miss me very much.

“You know what twins can be like,” I said.

“Yes. The relationship is very close.”

That was all. And then we left and came home.

A week or so later there was a letter from Nanny Crabtree and one for me from Dorabella.

They arrived when we were at breakfast. My mother opened hers immediately. I liked to take Dorabella’s letters to my bedroom that I might be alone when I read them, because she often wrote very frankly, for my eyes only. My mother knew this and would ask later what I had heard from her.

“Wonderful!” she cried, reading her letter. “Nanny Crabtree is already there. Just the same old Nanny Crabtree. She is going to make some changes in the nursery. She says Dorabella is doing well and everything seems to be in order. She’s quite satisfied with her condition. She’s not sure of the doctor, though. You have to watch these country doctors, she says.”

Nanny Crabtree herself came from London and believed that everyone who did not could not be expected to share that certain shrewdness which belonged to those born in the capital.

“She was just the same with us at Caddington,” said my mother, with a grimace. “She’ll be even more critical with the Cornish. It’s even farther from London. I’m so glad she is there. She’ll know exactly what’s what, and as long as she doesn’t alienate the doctor, all should be well. I wonder what Matilda thinks of her? The trouble with people like Nanny Crabtree is that they believe they are right and everyone who disagrees with them is wrong. Actually nine times out of ten she is right.”

“I thought you were absolutely certain no one but Nanny Crabtree would do.”

“I am, but she can rub people up the wrong way.”

“Dorabella wants her.”

“Oh, she’ll be fine with her darling Dorabella, and the baby couldn’t be in better hands, but Nanny Crabtree will have things done her way.”

“Perhaps that’s no bad thing.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

I wanted to get away to read Dorabella’s letter, and so I went to my room.

Dear Vee,

Well, Nanny Crabtree has arrived in all her glory. Dermot went down to the station to collect her and I have an idea that she doesn’t approve of him. Who could disapprove of Dermot? He was meek with her and answered all her questions as well as could be expected from a mere man. She is a little critical of the house. She thinks it’s draughty. “What can you expect?” she said. “With all that sea outside.” She’s changed the nursery round a bit and she makes me rest more. I was always the self-willed one. “Not like that Miss Violetta.” You have become a paragon of virtue. It was always like that, wasn’t it? The good twin was the absent one.

She goes off every now and then into something we did when we were three…or four. Well, she has anecdotes for all ages. The baby is her baby. I am allowed a slight proprietorial interest. You wouldn’t think Dermot had anything to do with it. Nanny Crabtree’s babies are all hers. Poor darling, I hope when he/she arrives, he/she does not find her too overpowering.

Matilda is so patient and goes along with everything she suggests. Dermot quite likes her, although she behaves toward him as though he is one of those half-witted men who wouldn’t know one end of a baby from the other. Gordon, she thinks, is a bit of a misery. She doesn’t know what to make of the old man, though they rarely meet. I am sure she considers him of no importance whatsoever.

Dear old Nanny Crabtree. I’m glad she is here. She makes me feel…comfortable.

What I want most is for you to come. It won’t be long now. By the way, tell Mummy I am thinking of names. I have decided to keep up the opera tradition. If it’s a boy, it’s to be Tristan, if a girl Isolde. Ask her if that will suit her. I don’t think she is as fond of Wagner as she is of our two. But it will be particularly appropriate as these are Cornish names…and Nanny Crabtree’s baby will be half that.

When I told my mother about the suggested names she was amused.

“I like that,” she said. “They are both lovely names. I wonder what it will be. Your father doesn’t mind much what sex it is as long as they are both all right. Nor do I, for that matter. Perhaps a boy would be nice. They would like that down there, I expect.”

She was looking at me wistfully, and I felt that faint, embarrassed irritation when I saw matrimonial plans in her eyes. It might be that she believed I must be very lonely without Dorabella.

There was little thought now of anything but the baby. We went to London to stay with Edward and, of course, saw the Dorringtons.

I had a chance of telling Mary Grace about Dorabella’s reception of the miniature and that, just as I had thought, she wanted Mary Grace to do a picture of her.

“I expect you persuaded her,” said Mary Grace.

“I can assure you Dorabella makes up her own mind. She thinks you have genius and she can’t wait. That is why I wanted to make sure of that other frame. When the baby is born you must come down. You’ll find Cornwall quite interesting.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“And you will come to Cornwall and do the miniature?”

“I want to…more than anything. It has been marvelous.”

“We’ll get the frame tomorrow and make sure we have the pair.”

It was a successful visit. There was the usual excitement of shopping and we went to a theater and to supper with the Dorringtons.

Gretchen seemed a little more serene. She was preoccupied with the coming baby. It was not due until April but already it absorbed her. I was so glad, for it undoubtedly took her thoughts away from the anxieties she felt about her family.

We could not stay long, for, as my mother had said, we had to prepare for our visit to Cornwall.

“I want to be there in good time,” she said. “Dorabella will feel happier if we are around. When it is all settled down, I shall have to come back. I can’t leave your father too long. He hates to be alone, though he never complains. You might like to stay on a little, and if Mary Grace is going to be there, you would want to be there, too. We shall have to make plans for Christmas. I suppose we shall have to go there. Nanny Crabtree would never allow such a young baby to travel. We seem to be spending our lives on trains these days. I thought the Dorringtons rather hinted that we might spend Christmas with them.”

“Oh, we should have to be with Dorabella.”

“Of course. But I wish she were not so far away.”

And in due course we were traveling down to Cornwall. It was a dark November day and as the train carried us into the West Country the light was fading. It would be dark by the time we arrived.

Dorabella flung herself at me and clung to me. She was very emotional. The birth was clearly imminent; she was quite unwieldy and, I could detect, a little scared.

Then she clung to my mother, who was very reassuring.

Nanny Crabtree welcomed us with restrained pleasure.

“It’s going to be a boy,” she said. “I can tell by the way she’s carrying it. That Mrs. Lewyth said she thought it would be a girl. ‘A girl, my foot,’ I said. ‘She’s carrying a boy if ever I saw a boy being carried.’ ”

“Well, I hope little Tristan comes punctually.”

“Tristan!” snorted Nancy Crabtree. “What a name! What’s wrong with a nice Jack or Charlie?”

“Nothing at all,” retorted my mother, “except that Dorabella has decided on Tristan.”

Nanny Crabtree clicked her tongue. At least she could not have her way over that.

Dorabella showed us the now completed layette and told us what arrangements had been made.

The midwife was coming as soon as Nanny Crabtree gave the call and there would be the doctor, too; and Nanny Crabtree would be on hand to welcome the new arrival.

“Everything is ready,” put in Nanny Crabtree. “I’ve seen to that. Now all we’ve got to do is wait for the little darling.”

That was what she was longing for. Then she would be rid of the midwife and the doctor and herself be in complete command.