Let me take your handkerchief. Did
it--were you--are you hurt, dear?"
"No, but you pushed me awful hard, Delia, and a nasty big man
grabbed me and tore my guimpe--see! I wish you'd told me what you
were going to do," began Miss Honey irritably.
"And you gave me a big kick--it was _me_ he grabbed--look at my
cheek!" Caroline's lips began to twitch; she felt hideously tired,
suddenly.
"Children, children, don't quarrel. General, darling, _won't_ you
sit still, please? You hurt Delia's knees, and you feel so heavy.
Oh, I wish we were all home!"
The man in livery came down the stairs. "Will you step up, Madame
says, and she has something for you up there. I'll take the baby,"
as Delia's eyes measured the climb. "Lord, I won't drop her--I've
got two o' my own. 'Bout a year, isn't she?"
"He's a boy," panted Delia, as she rested her weight on the rail,
"and he's only eight months last week," with a proud smile at the
General's massive proportions.
"Well, he _is_ a buster, isn't he? Here is the nurse, Madame, and
the children. The doctor has gone."
Caroline stretched her eyes wide and abandoned herself to a frank
inspection of her surroundings. For this she must be pardoned, as
every square inch of the dark, deep-colored room had been taken
bodily from Italian palaces of the most unimpeachable Renaissance
variety.
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