In December of the following year Frances came into her mother’s room one afternoon, drawing on her gloves.

“Your new gown is very pretty,” her mother said. “Where are you calling?”

“I have bridge at the Warrens’ at four,” she answered. “But I thought I might have time before that to drop in at Don’s. He has telephoned me half a dozen times to call and see his baby, and I suppose he’ll keep on until I go.”

“You really ought to go.”

Frances became petulant. “Oh, I know it, but––after all, a baby isn’t interesting.”

“They say it’s a pretty baby. It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you come along with me?”

“I’m not dressed, dear, but please to extend my congratulations.”

“Yes, mother.”

As John started to close the door of the limousine, Frances glanced at her watch.

“I wish to call at Mr. Pendleton’s, but I must be at the Warrens’ at four promptly. How much time must I allow?”

“A half hour, Miss.”

“Very well, John.”

Nora took her card, and came back with the request that she follow upstairs. “The baby’s just waked up,” Nora said.

Frances was disappointed. If she had to see a baby, she preferred, on the whole, seeing it asleep.

Mrs. Pendleton came to the nursery door with the baby in her arms––or rather a bundle presumably containing a baby.

“It’s good of you to come,” she smiled. “I think he must have waked up just to see you.”

She spoke unaffectedly and with no trace of embarrassment, although when Nora presented the card she had for a second become confused. She had hoped that Don would be at home when this moment came.

“You’re sure it’s convenient for me to stay?” questioned Frances uneasily.

“Quite,” answered Mrs. Pendleton. “I––I want you to see him when he’s good-natured.”

She crossed the room to the window, and removed a layer of swaddling clothes very gently. And there, revealed, lay Don, Jr. His face was still rather red, and his nose pudgy; but when he opened his eyes Frances saw Don’s eyes. It gave her a start.

“He has his father’s eyes,” said the mother.

“There’s no doubt of that,” exclaimed Frances.

“And his nose––well, he hasn’t much of any nose yet,” she smiled.

“He seems very small––all over.”

“He weighed ten pounds this morning,” said the mother.

Don, Jr., was waving his arms about, rather feebly, but with determination.

“He is very strong,” the mother informed her. “Don declares that he has all the earmarks of a football player.”

It seemed odd to hear this other speak so 332 familiarly of Don. Frances glanced up quickly––and met Mrs. Pendleton’s eyes. It was as if the two challenged each other. But Frances was the first to turn away.

“Would you like to hold him a minute?” asked Mrs. Pendleton.

Frances felt her breath coming fast.

“I’m afraid I’d be clumsy.”

“Hold out your arms and I’ll put him in them.”

Frances held out her arms, and Mrs. Pendleton gently laid the baby across them.

“Now hold him up to you,” she said.

Frances obeyed. The sweet, subtle aroma of his hair reached her. The subtle warmth of his body met hers. As the mystic eyes opened below her eyes, a crooning lullaby hidden somewhere within her found its way to her throat and there stuck. She grew dizzy and her throat ached. Don, Jr., moved uneasily.

“He wants to come back now,” said the mother as she took him.

“Good-bye,” whispered Frances. “I may come again?”

“Come often,” smiled Mrs. Pendleton.

Frances tiptoed from the room, and tiptoed all the way downstairs and through the hall.

As she stepped into the limousine, she said to John: “Home, please.”

“But you said you must be at the Warrens’ at four,” John respectfully reminded her.

She sank back wearily in the seat.

“Home, John, please,” she repeated.

THE END