Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. I have never been wrong about the sex of an unborn child. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. "Come along! We'll start that concert right away. You shall behold him.
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