ust
why--perhaps it was fear lest Maurice would notice his growing
perfection--but when Jacky's father came she kept Jacky in the
background! On this September afternoon she said, as she opened the
door:

"Why, you're a great stranger! Come right in! Wait a second till I get
Jacky. I've just nursed him and I put him out there so I could watch him
while I scrubbed the porch." She ran out to the gate, then pushed the
carriage up the path.

"Let me help you," Maurice said, politely; adding to himself,
"Damn--damn--!" Stepping backward, he lifted the front wheels, and with
Lily's help pulled the perambulator on to the little porch and over the
threshold into the house--which always shone with immaculate neatness
and ugly comfort. He kept his eyes away from the sleeping face on the
pillow. Together they got the carriage into the hall--Lily fumbling all
the while with one hand to fasten the front of her dress and skipping a
button or two as she did so; but he had a glimpse of the heavy abundance
of her bosom, and thought to himself that, esthetically, maternity was
rather unpleasant.

"Go on into the parlor and sit down," she said; "I'll put him in the
kitchen," She pushed the elaborate wicker perambulator, adorned with
bows of blue-satin ribbon, down a dark entry smelling of very good soup
stock. When she came back she found Maurice, his hat and stick in his
hands, standing in her tiny front room, where the sunny window was full
of geraniums and scraggly rose bushes. "I got 'em in early. And I dug up
my dahlias--I was afraid of frost. (Mercy! I must clean that window on
the outside!) Well, you _are_ a stranger!" she said, again,
good-naturedly. Then she sighed: "Mr. Curtis, Jacky seems kind o' sick.
He's been coughing, and he's hot. Would you send for a doctor, if you
was me?"

"Why, if you're worried, yes," Maurice said, impatiently; "I was just
passing, and--No, thank you; I won't sit down. I was passing, and I
thought I'd look in and give you a--a little present. If the youngster's
upset, it will come in well," he ended, as his hand sought his waistcoat
pocket. Lily's face was instantly anxious.

"What! Did _you_ think he looked sick, too? I was kind of worried, but
if you noticed it--"

"I didn't in the least," he said, frowning; "I didn't look at him."

"He 'ain't never been what you'd call sick," Lily tried to reassure
herself; "he's a reg'lar rascal!" she ended, tenderly; her eyes--those
curious amber eyes,