George says
Strain! If you knew the strain I’ve been bearing for months past!
Haven’t you noticed the dark rings under my eyes, the unnatural brightness of my orbs, the hectic flush on my cheeks, the bald spot on the back of my head?
Strain!… My dear sister, I have a secret and terrible woe — a woe which, with courage worthy of an Englishman and a parent, I have shared with none.
May, I am undone! I feared it. I have feared it for many weeks.
Listen. Five or six months ago, Uncle Francis said that if it was a son, he would settle ten thousand pounds upon it.
And if a daughter? He coldly declined to consider the possibility of such a thing.
You know the special brand of ass he is sometimes. I said nothing to anybody, not even to my wife, for I felt that it would worry her. Imagine my condition of mind, my agonising suspense.
Do you wonder that I have been wakeful night after night?
Do you wonder that, from pure weariness and fatigue, I should fall asleep on this very afternoon of my undoing? Oh, May! To be a father is not so simple and pleasing as the superficial observer might fancy.