, with Peter still in
attendance.

For the moment the interest swerved from the weeping figure to the cooing
occupant of the carriage. The atom was still clapping his hands, and a
pink flush of excitement tinged the olive of the cheeks. "Look at that
cunning baby!"... "Isn't he a darling?"... "Why, isn't that the South
American baby?"... "Sh-h-h--deformed or something."... "Of course, it
can't be." Sentences, whole and in fragments, came to Sheila as she pushed
her way through the crowd.

Something of this new interest must have penetrated the senora's
consciousness, for her wailing ceased; she cocked her head on one side
like a listening parrakeet. "Who say babee? I theenk--I theenk--" Then she
saw Sheila. A look of immediate recognition swept over her face, but it
was gone the instant she looked at the atom. "Who that babee?" she
demanded.

"Mine." Sheila pinned her with steady eyes, while her mouth looked as if
it could never grow gentle and demure again.

Incredulity, suspicion, amazement, were all registered on the pretty,
shallow face. "Your babee? How you get babee?"

Sheila made no answer.

The senora looked again at the atom; she held out a timorous finger to
him. He responded cordially by curling a small fist promptly about it.
"_Madre de Dios, que bonito! Que chico y hermoso!_" Then, to Sheila: "I
give you seeck babee--eet no die? You make thees babee out of seeck babee,
yes?"

Sheila still remained silent.

The senora turned to the atom for the confirmation she desired. "_Nene,
como te llamas?_"

It was intensely entertaining to the atom. He wagged the senora's finger
frantically, tossed back his head, and gave forth a low, gurgling laugh.
"_Jesu!_ That ees hees papa. He look like that when he laugh. _Tu nombre,
nene--tu nombre?_" With a fresh outburst she sank down beside the
carriage and buried her face in the brown legs and pink socks.

But the atom did not approve of this. His lower lip dropped and quivered;
he reached out his arm to Sheila. "Ma-ma-ma-ma," he coaxed.

"You no ma-ma, I ma-ma." The senora was on her feet, shaking an angry fist
at Sheila. But in an instant her anger was gone; she was down on her knees
again, clasping Sheila's skirt, while her voice wailed forth in
supplication. "You no keep leetle babee? You ver' good, ver' kind,
senorita--you _muy simpatica_, yes? You give leetle babee. I ma-ma. Yes?"

But Sheila O'Leary stood grim and unyielding. "No. He is mine. When he wa