The Thorntons' dinner was delayed by three weeks, so that Mr Watson might put his affairs in order, following the fire which had gutted two sheds. But the blaze did not prevent Mr and Mrs Watson from dining with the Thornton's on a Sunday evening, as had become their custom. It was during this first Sunday dinner (only five days after that fateful inferno) that Watson began to make light of the tragedy; entirely disregarding the unnecessary loss of life, which had been brought upon Milton's working poor.

'It's all insured,' blustered Watson, 'and I'm well set-up with all my money making schemes; I'll not be in wont of income whilst the repairs to the mill are in-hand.'

'Speculations? You speak of speculations?' asked Isabel, as she looked distastefully at her brother by marriage.

'Do you want in again, Mrs Thornton?' laughed the older man.

'I certainly do not!' scoffed she, now scowling; for it was clear that the man thought only of money. 'And what is being done for the families of those poor souls who lost their lives? A parent gone and now no able body by which to earn a wage? How do you intend to make reparation?'

'Reparation!' cried Mr Watson. 'I rebuild my mill so that they might have employment; that! is more than they deserve.'

'Oh! your mill is a charitable endeavour? Run at no profit, simply to offer the lower classes of Milton a means of employment? I did not know it,' countered Isabel, sarcastically. Mr Watson narrowed his eyes at Isabel in vexation, before blinking rapidly and turning to Mr Thornton.

'She's a feisty one. If she was mine, I'd be minded to take her over my knee!'

'I would never "be" yours, sir!' countered Isabel, in disgust. 'And I should never allow myself to be placed over a man's knee; I am not some errant child. I wonder – when you Masters have your differences of opinion, do you castigate the likes of Slickson in the same manner? Has Mr Hamper felt the flat of your hand?' asked Isabel, archly. 'Or it is simply that as a woman, my dissension is a greater threat?'

'Here, Thornton! What is your wife about? She needs to learn to hold her tongue.' But Mr Thornton – although aware that Isabel's speech was vexatious – did not think of his wife, but of his sister.

'I'll not raise my hand to a woman, Watson,' said Mr Thornton, coolly. 'And make no mistake; I have a care for my sister.' And he gave to Watson such a pointed look, that the unpleasant fellow fairly paled.

'My Fanny's a good, obedient wife. You've nothing to worry about.' And Fanny smiled insipidly, for Watson was not a violent man, but had an unpleasant temper; not easily provoked by only a trying young wife who was keen to avoid his company.

'Indeed, Fanny has made many improvements to your home; you find yourself quite lucky, sir,' put in Isabel, with a forced smile. Fanny was pleased with the compliment, and failed to notice that her husband and sister were glowering at one another.

'Shall we leave the men to their business and move through to the drawing room?' sighed Mrs Thornton, for the constant ill-will at Sunday dinners did irk her.

'Certainly, Mother,' agreed Isabel, as she passed an apologetic look to Mr Thornton. And Fanny – who was eager to escape her husband's obnoxious heavy breath (for he could not breathe quietly through his nose, whilst eating) – rose happily, her curls bouncing about her ears, as her many skirts swayed around her.

'I say, Thornton, that wife of yours is trouble,' announced Watson, no sooner had the ladies retired to the drawing room.

'I find her quite agreeable,' was Mr Thornton's only reply. Mr Watson huffed his dissatisfaction with such a taciturn response.

'She is radical; she doesn't know her place!'

'Then it is fortunate that Fanny seldom has an opinion on any matters of business or politics; that she holds no charitable sensibilities. She makes you a good wife. I, in turn, and pleased with mine.' Mr Watson only grumbled, but did concede – inwardly – that Fanny – although cold – was very easy to satisfy, and caused him no trouble, so long as she had an adequate allowance.

The Watsons did not remain long after the gentlemen had re-joined the ladies, for the party did not form a happy group, and where Isabel would usually force a smile and polite turn of phrase, she now sat taciturn and scowling; her displeased expression broken only fleetingly, by a half-stifled yawn.

'Watson was in a rather ill humour this evening,' mused Mrs Thornton, casually, as she sat about her needlework; Mr and Mrs Watson having just bid the Thornton's farewell. 'He is usually an idle fellow; he has not the gusto to put up much complaint, but I thought him rather vexed.' Mr Thornton looked to Isabel; the undoubted cause of the gentleman's vexation.

'He drank a fair quantity at dinner; drink makes him irritable,' replied Mr Thornton, brushing aside his mother's tepid censure of his wife. But Mrs Thornton was not convinced, and looked assessingly to her daughter.

Hmmm, thought she, eyeing Isabel suspiciously. She is out of sorts, and rather tired. I know the signs.

'Isabel, you must be tired; having worked all day rearranging the dinner party; why don't you go up to bed?' suggested Mrs Thornton. And Isabel could not refuse, for she was barely able to suppress a yawn. She looked pleadingly to her husband, and understanding her look, he rose and offered Isabel his arm.

'I too, shall retire, Mother. You will not mind my going up?' asked Mr Thornton.

'No; I had not meant to sit up, myself.' And she watched them go with a certain raptness; a rapid beating of the heart, and wondered if her son would scold his wife in private, or play the understanding, modern man.

'Love,' said Mr Thornton, tending to the laces on Isabel's corset, after having dismissed Jane, 'are you well, Izzy?'

'I am quite well, John.'

'But rather short of temper?' enquired Mr Thornton, raising one perfect dark brow.

'I am tired; I admit.' He nodded, and tugged at the laces, until the loathsome garment fell away. 'Ah! That is bliss,' sighed she, revelling in the freedom of movement.

'Was it laced too tightly, love?' asked Mr Thornton, gently trailing her underclothes up her body, and tugging them from her shoulders. Warm hands returned to her sides, and a palm reached around her waist, and pressed against her stomach, pulling her back, so that Isabel was flush against his firm body. 'Please, love; I am eager – you must know that I am,' pleaded Mr Thornton, his hand now moving lower, and cradling the slight roundness to her otherwise-lean figure.

'I am, John.'

'You are certain? You know it to be so?' Isabel nodded and bit her lip to hold back an excited smile.

'I am now quite certain of it. I saw Dr Donaldson as you asked – despite my not needing to, for I am a doctor and know my own body! – but he says we are to have a babe within a little more than a six month.'

'My darling!' sighed Mr Thornton, contentedly, and he pressed his lips against Isabel's neck, and whispered words of love. 'I could not be happier, Izzy, my love.'

'And I could not be more short-tempered or tired,' smiled Isabel; half in jest and half in earnest.

'Shall you tell Mother to-morrow? She will be very pleased, I should think,' asked Mr Thornton, soberly.

'Very pleased! What cool praise – very pleased, indeed! A little John Thornton – the prodigal son! No; I fear Mother shall put in an order for a whole rabble of little Thornton's. I will certainly tell Mother to-morrow, as it will please her, but I shall wait until you are home from the mill and we may tell her together.'

'Oh, I need not be there if you do not wish to wait, love. It is a woman's right to share such news.' Here, Isabel prised Mr Thornton's large hand from her waist, and spun about to face him with narrowed eyes.

'Oh, no, John! I might be living in Milton, but you are to be a modern father – a thoroughly modern father.' He paused in thought; his brow dipping as he studied her, and wondered at what could possibly be expected of him.

'And tell me your notion of this thoroughly modern father, Izzy,' offering a bemused smile.

'He rubs his wife's aching back. And her feet; definitely her feet! He is not vexed by a shortness of temper in his increasing wife, but is patient and loving. When the pains come,' said Isabel, her eyes now widening with mirth, 'the thoroughly modern father does not leave his wife's side, but holds her hand throughout the ordeal, and watches his babe come into the world.' Mr Thornton barely suppressed a grimace, but he had a strong constitution, and so although he was quite shocked, he was not so aghast at such a notion, as to issue a complaint.

'And is that all, love?'

'No! It is not all; the babe has only just been born, by my account! No, the wife shall nurse her own babe, and the husband shall think it a heart-warming sight. The babe will sleep in its crib, beside mother and father – not in a nursery! – and when it is a little bigger, it shall move to a room close by; my room, perhaps?' suggested Isabel, with no small amount of amusement.

'You issue me a challenge, I see?' laughed Mr Thornton, for he was in a fine humour – never better – and nothing could perturb him.

'That is not a challenge, dearest, but only the beginning. A father must hold his child in his arms, and bounce it upon his knee. And he might read to it, or sing, and –'

'Sing! I do not sing!'

'And sing, and help the mother bathe it, and change its underclothes.'

'Yes, yes; I see you try to provoke me, but it shall not work; you cannot provoke the world's most fortunate man, love. Now come to bed; you need your sleep, and to-morrow, please have Jane lace that corset loosely.'

'And we are to tell Mother together, at dinner?'

'No, I shall smile like a fool at breakfast; we ought to tell her right away, or she'll no doubt think I'm sickening.'

Laughing at the very prospect of Mrs Thornton presuming such a weakness in her son, Isabel climbed into bed, roughly punched her freshly-plumped pillow, and settled onto her back with a contented sigh, as she watched Mr Thornton pull his nightshirt over his head and snuff the candle. The mattress dipped, and gave way to Mr Thornton's broad frame, and he settled his head against his own pillow, laying back, to look about the darkness of the room. He did not feel at all tired, for it was his habit to retire far later of an evening. Isabel bit her lips to stifle a burst of laughter, and felt her cheeks flush with mirth, as she listened to her husband's fidgeting beside her.

'John!' whispered she, now smiling, so that when he turned to face her, he could discern the whiteness of her teeth against the evening gloom.

'Yes, love?'

'You are restless.'

'Do I keep you awake?' And she shook her head, sounding her denial by the loud crinkling of her pillow.

'If you are not tired, you might not have put your nightshirt on?' whispered Isabel, in a teasing, pouting voice. Mr Thornton coughed to clear his throat, and frowned back as his wife.

'We ought not, surely, Izzy?'

'Well, if you don't want to –' replied she, in a careless, sing-song voice.

'Certainly I want to!' insisted he, with amusing vehemence. 'Only with the babe, love, we probably ought not?'

'Perhaps in seven months, then. I'd like the extra month to recover,' mused Isabel, rolling to face away from him. Mr Thornton sighed in exasperation, and muttered beneath his breath, causing Isabel to shake the bed with stifled laughter, for she was certain she had heard a manly groan of "seven months!" Now came a tap to her shoulder, and a wash of warm breath upon her neck, as Mr Thornton leaned over her, seeking her attention.

'I cannot wait seven months, love. Shall we have to?'

'No; it shan't hurt the babe.'

'Are you certain?' With a weary roll of her eyes, Isabel turned to face her husband.

'If you will only light that candle, I can draw for you a doctor's diagram, and then you shall see how your manhood cannot harm the babe.' Mr Thornton's eyes widened in alarm, as he flushed furiously. It did not matter that it was dark, for Isabel knew her husband well, and when she shot that impish arrow, her aim was always true.

'Can you hold your tongue, wife! I need no diagram, I'll thank you.'

'Very well, good night.' And she turned, to show him her back. Frustrated though she was, she loved to tease him, even more.

Now Mr Thornton awoke in an ill-humour, and it was only made worse by Isabel's delight in his vexation. His natural inclination – upon hearing those dulcet tones of frivolous laughter, where he himself, felt so very dissatisfied – would have been to retreat to the mill under some pretext of business, for he did not appreciate his wife laughing at his own sorry predicament. And yet he lingered as Isabel saw quickly to her toilet and dress, for they were – this morning – to tell Mrs Thornton of their news, and for all that Mr Thornton had awoken in a cantankerous mood, he was eager to announce his impending fatherhood.

The outer door to Isabel's room sounded, and Mr Thornton slipped through the adjoining door to meet his wife, just as he caught sight of Jane's retreating figure.

'She did not lace your corset too tightly?' asked Mr Thornton, in clipped tones.

'Certainly not so tight as yesterday,' frowned Isabel, who was still resentful that she had to wear the irksome garment at all.

'But still tight!' scowled Mr Thornton, now stepping towards her and placing his hands against her waist. 'Does it pain you? Shall it harm the babe?'

'It could certainly do more harm than could your loving ministrations, but as you did not commission me to draw for you that diagram, no doubt you shan't believe me.' Mr Thornton looked away with dark cheeks; he was in no mood for teasing, for he was an anxious father and passionate husband, and felt the two concerns did not sit well together.

'Shall we go down to Mother, then?'

'Yes, do let us, but now that you wear upon your face, an angry scowl, I think we could very well delay sharing our news until dinner; you shan't look as though you're sickening for anything. Indeed, I see in you now, nothing but your usual turn of countenance,' jested Isabel, as she walked along the hall.

'Troublesome, irksome wife! Why do you try to provoke me, so?' glowered Mr Thornton, as they stepped into the dining room. Mrs Thornton heard her son's rebuke, and looking up sharply from the table, she sighed in disappointment.

'Good morning, Isabel, John. I trust you both slept well?'

'I slept very well, thank you, Mother. John, it seems, is out of sorts,' replied Isabel, as Mr Thornton pulled back her chair to see his wife seated. Mrs Thornton turned her beady eye upon her son, and certainly thought him vexed. His cheeks were dark and his jaw was set, and she detected in his shoulders, a certain tension belying some unknown repressed emotion. Wordlessly, he turned to the sideboard, and loaded a plate with an assortment of breakfast foods, before setting it in front of his wife.

'Eat; you must eat,' came his short, sharp reply.

Now Mrs Thornton was intrigued, for she had suspected that her daughter-in-law might be increasing. The notion had first struck her when she had caught Isabel in a waver of dizziness, after she had quarrelled with Mr Thornton about her speculation in Mr Watson's scheme. Her son had seemed to think the small stumble – the clutching at the table – to be a symptom of his castigation and short temper, but Mrs Thornton knew a woman's ways, and thought it unlikely that her bold new daughter would quail in such a fashion. There had been – to Mrs Thornton – a much more likely explanation for that little spell.

Once the seed of suspicion had been planted, Mrs Thornton had kept a watchful eye, and she noticed that Isabel had surreptitiously been avoiding rich foods, and that she did not sit up so late of an evening. The previous evening's conflict with Mr Watson, had all but confirmed the suspicions in Mrs Thornton's mind. Her new daughter – although never having been fond of Mr Watson – was now certainly more quarrelsome and quick to temper. Then she had flagged upon their guests' departure, making Mrs Thornton quite certain that she would soon be blessed with a grandchild.

She had thought her son to be happy; certainly his every word and look, when speaking on such a prospect, had never been anything but eager anticipation, and yet now he was decidedly taciturn! Mrs Thornton would have reasoned that there was no news to be had on such a matter – such was Mr Thornton's morosity – but, although an attentive husband, he did not pander to his wife, and setting before Isabel, her breakfast – and piling the plate so very high! – was something she had only seen him do once before, and on that occasion, he had been worried for his wife's health and appetite, after she had taken a dip in The Hoppen.

'You are very quiet, John?' mused Mrs Thornton, probingly.

'Sorry, Mother. I did not sleep too well.' And he glanced furtively at Isabel; their eyes lingering upon one another's in silent communion, before he gave a simple, decisive nod to his wife.

'Mother,' said she, now smiling brightly, 'I am with child. We are to have a babe within a six month.' Mrs Thornton heard the words she had long-suspected, and found herself reacting in a way she had never thought to do. For there she sat – at the foot of the table – and blinked thrice, before a wide, joyous smile spread across her face. She could not describe her delight at hearing such good news, and sat dumb, with only a rare – yet brilliant – smile. At length, she schooled her features into an expression more befitting of a Thornton, and said only, -

'A grandchild!'

'It is wonderful news, is it not?' replied Isabel, delighted at her new mother's response (although, she had known that Mrs Thornton could feel nothing but elation at the prospect of yet more John Thorntons about the house).

'It is. Congratulations to you both.'

'Mother, I might ask you to find some patterns for the babe's clothing. Isabel will want to begin on its wardrobe right away; she cannot work fast.' And Mr Thornton rose from the table, pressed a chaste kiss to Isabel's cheek, before turning to his mother, kissing her brow, and departing for the mill.

'Is John not pleased?' asked Mrs Thornton, in consternation. And here, Isabel flushed. 'What is it, girl!' demanded the matriarch, impatiently. Isabel's eyes widened in alarm at the prospect of explaining herself.

'John is very pleased about the babe. We both are.'

'And yet he is in a poor temper!' scoffed Mrs Thornton. Isabel frowned, weighing her words carefully.

'John is concerned that certain –' Oh! it was an agony to her. However could she say those words to that proud matriarch! 'Activities – may harm the babe. I have assured him they will not, and did offer to explain by way of a diagram, but –'

'A diagram!' cried Mrs Thornton, who now looked as utterly discomposed as did her daughter. 'You cannot think of such a thing.'