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"
"What?"
"Her."
"Her what, my little white buttonhole carnation?"
"You see--I--She's all alone."
"You adorable, she's got a brand-new husky husband."
"No--you don't--understand."
Then, on a thunderclap of inspiration, hitting his knee:
"I have it. Mamma-baby! That's it. My girlie is a cry-baby, mamma-baby!"
And made to slide along the divan toward her, but up flew her two small
hands, like fans.
"No," she said, with the little bang back in her voice which steadied
him again. "I mustn't! You see, we're so close. Sometimes it's more as
if I were the mother and she my little girl."
"Alma, that's beautiful, but it's silly, too. But tell me first of all,
mamma-baby, that you do care. Tell me that first, dearest, and then we
can talk."
The kerchief was all screwed up now, so tightly that it could stiffly
unwind of itself.
"She's not well, Leo. That terrible neuralgia--that's why she needs me
so."
"Nonsense! She hasn't had a spell for weeks. That's Louis' great brag,
that he's curing her.


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