"Oh, but she's so _beautiful!_ Tell me, honestly, isn't that really so?"

"My dear," I said, "she is like you."

"Mary," she went on, half whispering, "I think it solves all my problems--all that I wrote you about. I don't believe I shall ever be unhappy again. I can't believe that such a thing has really happened--that I've been given such a treasure. And she's my own! I can watch her little body grow and help to make it strong and beautiful! I can help mould her little mind--see it opening up, one chamber of wonder after another! I can teach her all the things I have had to grope so to get!"

"Yes," I said, trying to speak with conviction. I added, hastily: "I'm glad you don't find motherhood disappointing."

"Oh, it's a miracle!" she exclaimed. "A woman who could be dissatisfied with anything afterwards would be an ingrate!" She paused, then added: "Mary, now she's here in flesh, I feel she'll be a bond between Douglas and me. He must see her rights, her claim upon life, as he couldn't see mine."

I a.s.sented gravely. So that was the thing she was thinking most about--a bond between her husband and herself! A moment later the nurse appeared in the doorway, and Sylvia set up a cry: "My baby! Where's my baby? I want to see my baby!"

"Sylvia, dear," I said, "there's something about the baby that has to be explained."

Instantly she was alert. "What is the matter?"

I laughed. "Nothing, dear, that amounts to anything. But the little one's eyes are inflamed--that is to say, the lids. It's something that happens to newly-born infants."

"Well, then?" she said.

"Nothing, only the doctor's had to put some salve on them, and they don't look very pretty."

"I don't mind that, if it's all right."

"But we've had to put a bandage over them, and it looks forbidding. Also the child is apt to cry."

"I must see her at once!" she exclaimed.

"Just now she's asleep, so don't make us disturb her."

"But how long will this last?"

"Not very long. Meantime you must be sensible and not mind. It's something I made the doctor do, and you mustn't blame me, or I'll be sorry I came to you."

"You dear thing," she said, and put her hand in mine. And then, suddenly: "Why did you take it into your head to come, all of a sudden?"

"Don't ask me," I smiled. "I have no excuse. I just got homesick and had to see you."

"It's perfectly wonderful that you should be here now," she declared.

"But you look badly. Are you tired?"

"Yes, dear," I said. (Such a difficult person to deceive!) "To tell the truth, I'm pretty nearly done up. You see, I was caught in the storm, and I was desperately sea-sick."

"Why, you poor dear! Why didn't you go to sleep?"

"I didn't want to sleep. I was too much excited by everything. I came to see one Sylvia and I found two!"

"Isn't it absurd," she cried, "how she looks like me? Oh, I want to see her again. How long will it be before I can have her?"

"My dear," I said, "you mustn't worry--"

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm just playing. I'm so happy, I want to squeeze her in my arms all the time. Just think, Mary, they won't let me nurse her, yet--a whole day now! Can that be right?"

"Nature will take care of that," I said.

"Yes, but how can you be sure what Nature means? Maybe it's what the child is crying about, and it's the crying that makes its eyes red."

I felt a sudden spasm grip my heart. "No, dear, no," I said, hastily.

"You must let Dr. Perrin attend to these things, for I've just had to interfere with his arrangements, and he'll be getting cross pretty soon."

"Oh," she cried with laughter in her eyes, "you've had a scene with him?

I knew you would! He's so quaint and old-fashioned!"

"Yes," I said, "and he talks exactly like your aunt."

"Oh! You've met her too! I'm missing all the fun!"

I had a sudden inspiration--one that I was proud of. "My dear girl," I said, "maybe _you_ call it fun!" And I looked really agitated.

"Why, what's the matter?" she cried.

"What could you expect?" I asked. "I fear, my dear Sylvia, I've shocked your aunt beyond all hope."

"What have you done?"

"I've talked about things I'd no business to--I've bossed the learned doctor--and I'm sure Aunt Varina has guessed I'm not a lady."

"Oh, tell me about it!" cried Sylvia, full of delight.

But I could not keep up the game any longer. "Not now, dear," I said.

"It's a long story, and I really am exhausted. I must go and get some rest."

I rose, and she caught my hand, whispering: "I shall be happy, Mary! I shall be really happy now!" And then I turned and fled, and when I was out of sight of the doorway, I literally ran. At the other end of the veranda I sank down upon the steps, and wept softly to myself.

17. The launch arrived, bringing the nitrate of silver. A solution was dropped into the baby's eyes, and then we could do nothing but wait. I might have lain down and really tried to rest; but the maid came again, with the announcement that Sylvia was asking for her aunt. Excuses would have tended to excite her suspicions; so poor Mrs. Tuis had to take her turn at facing the ordeal, and I had to drill and coach her for it.

I had a vision of the poor lady going in to her niece, and suddenly collapsing. Then there would begin a cross-examination, and Sylvia would worm out the truth, and we might have a case of puerperal fever on our hands.

This I explained afresh to Mrs. Tuis, having taken her into her own room and closed the door for that purpose. She clutched me with her shaking hands and whispered, "Oh, Mrs. Abbott, you will _never_ let Sylvia find out what caused this trouble?"

I drew on my reserve supply of patience, and answered, "What I shall let her find out in the end, I don't know. We shall be guided by circ.u.mstances, and this is no time to discuss the matter. The point is now to make sure that you can go in and stay with her, and not let her get an idea there's anything wrong."

"Oh, but you know how Sylvia reads people!" she cried, in sudden dismay.

"I've fixed it for you," I said. "I've provided something you can be agitated about."

"What is that?"

"It's _me._" Then, seeing her look of bewilderment, "You must tell her that I've affronted you, Mrs. Tuis; I've outraged your sense of propriety. You're indignant with me and you don't see how you can remain in the house with me--"