roked his cheek. "What a perfectly exquisite skin!" she
said, and bending over him, kissed him delicately.

"How good it smells--how--how different!" she murmured. "I thought
they--I thought they didn't."

Miss Honey had taken the lady's other hand, and was examining the square
ruby with a diamond on either side.

"My mother says that's the principal reason to have a baby," she
remarked, absorbed in the glittering thing. "You sprinkle 'em all over
with violet powder--just like doughnuts with sugar--and kiss 'em. Some
people think they get germs that way, but my mother says if she couldn't
kiss 'em she wouldn't have 'em!"

The Princess bent over the baby again.

"It's going to sleep here!" she said, half fearfully, with an inquiring
glance at the two. "Oughtn't one to rock it?"

Miss Honey shook her head severely. "Not General," she answered, "he
won't stand it. My mother tried again and again--could I take that blue
ring a minute? I'd be awful careful--but he wouldn't. He sits up and he
lies down, but he won't rock."

"I might sing to him," suggested the Princess, brushing a damp lock from
the General's warm forehead and slipping her ringless finger into his
curved fist carefully. "Would he like it?"

"No, he wouldn't," said Miss Honey bluntly, twisting the ring around her
finger. "He only likes two people to sing--Delia and my mother. Was that
ruby ring a 'ngagement ring?"

Caroline interfered diplomatically, "General would be very much
obliged," she explained politely, "except that my Aunt Deedee is a very
good singer indeed, and Uncle Joe says General's taste is ruined for
just common singing."

The Princess stared at her blankly.

"Oh, indeed!" she remarked. Then she smiled, again in that whimsical,
expressive way. "You don't think I could sing well enough for him--as
well as your mother?"

Miss Honey laughed carelessly. "My mother is a singer," she said, "a
real one. She used to sing in concerts--real ones. In theaters. Real
theaters, I mean," as the lady appeared to be still amused.

"If you know where the Waldorf Hotel is," Caroline interrupted, "she has
sung in that, and it was five dollars to get in. It was to send the poor
children to a Fresh Air Fund. It--it's not the same as you would
sing--or me," she added politely.

The lady arose suddenly and deposited the General, like a doll, with one
swift motion, in the basket-chair. Striding across the room she turned,
flushed and tall, and confron