est little creature! I am so sorry you
never saw her. "I love my mamma best, and God next," she kept on saying
all that last day. One wondered and wondered what thought was in her
little brain. "You are mother's darling," I said to her--"mother's
precious little girl, but God gave you to her, so you are God's first!"
She threw her arms about my neck and kissed me, and said: "I like you
better than all the little boys at dancing-school put together!" She
fluttered about the bed with her arms like a little tired bird! She
made me sing to her. I sang hours and hours--lullabies and comic songs
she liked best. My maid came to me: "Madame is lunching out."

I was furious with her for coming to me with any such remark.
"Telegraph!" was all I said. "Telegraph what, madame?"

"I don't care," I answered.

O my dear Mary! to watch a little soul going--a little soul that is all
yours, or at least that you thought was all yours! To watch the light
of life fade and fade out of a face precious to you, into which you
cannot kiss the color again; to watch this little life, dearer to you
than your own, slip, slip away from you in spite of your hands
clutching to hold it back, or clasped in prayer to keep it! To sit and
lose and be helpless! Oh, the agony of it! Marie came once more; it was
dark; I guessed her errand, and only looked at her. She went away
without a word. I took the child out of the bed--it was like lifting a
flower. At dawn she died in my arms. Oh, were ever arms so empty as
when they hold the dead body of someone loved?

And then began the revelations. The stilted letters of condolence,
written with exactly the same amount of feeling as a note of regrets or
acceptance, and couched very much in the same sort of language.

One woman recommended her dressmaker as being the most _chic_
woman in New York for mourning--as if I cared! A great many cards were
left at the door with their corners turned down, and for awhile no
invitations came. That was all! Most of the people I was unfortunate
enough to meet made such remarks as----

"My Dear Mrs. Emery, I am so sorry to hear of your loss" (as if the
house had been burned down or the silver plate had been stolen); or
else----

"Dear Mrs. Emery, I was so shocked to hear it; such a _sweet_ child!
Which was it, a boy or a girl? Oh, yes, I remember, a boy--a nice
creature; but, my dear, so many boys turn out badly. You must try and
console yourself with thinking perhaps you h