rious _sometimes_," says Mrs. Herrick,
mildly.

A little hand upon her gown saves further expostulation. A little face
looking up with a certainty of welcome into hers brings again that
wonderful softness into Hermia's eyes.

"Is it you, my sweetest?" she says, fondly. "And where have you been? I
have watched in vain for you for the last half-hour, my Fay."

"I was in the dining-room. But nurse called me; and now I have come to
say good-night," says the child.

"Good-night, then, and God bless you, my chick. But where is my
Georgie?"

"I'm here," says Georgie, gleefully, springing upon her in a violent
fashion, that one would have believed hateful to the calm Hermia, yet
that is evidently most grateful to her. She embraces the boy warmly, and
lets her eyes follow him until he is out of sight. Then she turns again
to the little maiden at her side.

"I must go with Georgie," says the child.

"So you shall. But first tell me, what have you got in your hand?"

"Something to go to bed with. See, mammy! It is a pretty red plum,"
opening her delicate pink fist, for her mother's admiration.

"Where did you get it, darling?"

"In the dining-room."

"From Lord Rossmoyne?"

"No. From Mr. Kelly. I would not have the one Lord Rossmoyne gave me."

Olga laughs mischievously, and Mrs. Herrick colors.

"Why?" she says.

"Because I like Mr. Kelly best."

"And what did you give him?"

"Nothing."

"Not even a kiss?" says Olga.

"No," somewhat shamefacedly.

"Her mother's own daughter!" says Olga, caressing the child tenderly,
but laughing still. "A chilly mortal."

"Good-night, my own," says Hermia, and the child, having kissed them
both again, runs away.

Olga follows her with wistful eyes.

"I almost wish I had a baby!" she says.

"_You?_ Why, you can't take care of yourself! You are the least fitted
to have a child of any woman that I know. Leave all such charges to
staid people like me. Why, you are a baby at heart, yourself, this
moment."

"That would be no drawback. It would only have created sympathy between
me and my baby. I would have understood all her bad moods and condoned
all her crimes."

"If you had been a mother, you would have had a very naughty child."

"I should have had a very happy child, at least." Then she laughs.
"Fancy me with a dear little baby!" she says,--"a thing all my own, that
would rub its soft cheek against mine and love me better than anything!"

"And rumple all your