Half Loaves by Margaret Culkin Banning

The word love must not be narrowed or we shall lose the key to many a chamber of life. In our cross-section of life, which shows itself the most beautiful love? The love of Matthew which spends itself in pleasure in Cecily's existence rather than in personal desire, the tornado which must storm the frail soul of Fliss, the rare devotion of Ellen, the servant, for her mistress, the fine normality of Dick's feeling for his wife, or the love of Cecily herself, tormented and abused as such free-given love so often is tormented and abused by life? The spotlight of circumstance is turned now on one, now on another, as if seeking to find out.

Its light is focused on Cecily now. Dick knows about his expected child and every quality in his manhood has leapt into eager response to this proof of his own continuity. He cannot be too tender; he is fearful lest somehow things go wrong, and yet immensely sure that everything will be successful. He assures himself that this is a common happening and carries within himself the proud knowledge of an event that is absolutely unique. He is very curious about the physiological marvel, as all men are who for the first time watch themselves so mysteriously reproduced. And with it all -- all the pride that he feels in his coming child -- Cecily remains his young wife as well as his child's mother and he feels apologetic that this must hurt her -- even endanger her -- and he loves her beyond his pride and hope. Cecily's mother knows and surrounds Cecily with every precaution and comfort, seeming to guard her a little jealously now, even from Dick. Cecily has given up dancing and most society, and society, noticing -- ever on the _qui vive_ for these domestic interludes and their reactions on the people concerned in them -- accepts the situation with a sigh and a smile and a touch of sentiment. Young Mrs. Harrison is going to have a baby -- "so soon. " Well, opinion divides here.