“No,” said Henriette, who had suddenly lost her mood of gayety. “I should be too much afraid of winning.”
“Stop!” laughed her husband. “Don’t you believe I love her as much as you love her--my little duck? Do you know how old she is? I mean her EXACT age?”
Henriette sat knitting her brows, trying to figure.
“Ah!” he exploded. “You see you don’t know! She is ninety-one days and eight hours! Ha, ha! Imagine when she will be able to walk all alone. Then we will take her back with us; we must wait at least six months.” Then, too late, poor George realized that he had spoken the fatal phrase again.
“If only you hadn’t put off our marriage, she would be able to walk now,” said Henriette.
He rose suddenly. “Come,” he said, “didn’t you say you had to dress and pay some calls?”
“Run along, little wife,” he said. “I have a lot of work to do in the meantime. You won’t be down-stairs before I shall have my nose buried in my papers. Bye-bye.”
“Bye-bye,” said Henriette. But they paused to exchange a dozen or so kisses before she went away to dress.
Then George lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out in the big armchair. He seemed restless; he seemed to be disturbed about something. Could it be that he had not been so much at ease as he had pretended to be, since the letter had come from the baby’s nurse? Madame Dupont had gone by the earliest train that morning. She had promised to telegraph at once--but she had not done so, and now it was late afternoon.
George got up and wandered about. He looked at himself in the glass for a moment; then he went back to the chair and pulled up another to put his geet upon. He puffed away at his cigarette until he was calmer. But then suddenly he heard the rustle of a dress behind him, and glanced about, and started up with an exclamation, “Mother!”
Madame Dupont stood in the doorway. She did not speak. Her veil was thrown back and George noted instantly the look of agitation upon her countenance.
“What’s the matter?” he cried. “We didn’t get any telegram from you; we were not expecting you till tomorrow.”
“Henriette was just going out,” he exclaimed nervously; “I had better call her.”
“No!” said his mother quickly. Her voice was low and trembling. “I did not want Henriette to be here when I arrived.”
