My son?

Let me explain to you how it works, Esmerelda--

*It is perhaps fortunate that the next few words and their associated gestures are obscured in roaring green flame. When the connection improves, he is passing his hand wearily over his face as if heavily put-upon. His words are very slightly drawling, thanks to his lunchtime experiments with the flower-liquor.*

I don't see why this can't wait until my return.

It is a girl, yes, you know I've had worries--