The Two Saplings. Mazo de la Roche
darling, thanks so much for the lovely roses! Just look at them! They make even this room cheerful. Come and kiss me again.”
He smiled, got up and limped to the bed. He bent over her and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Gosh,” he said, “I’m glad you’ve come through this so well, Camilla.” He examined the roses. “They are nice, aren’t they? I got the best they had.”
“They’re lovely.” She looked toward the window. “What is it doing out? If the windows were cleaner I might see. Considering what this is costing, I think it’s pretty badly run.”
“Well, you’ll soon be out of it. I got our reservations yesterday. Good position amidships. Near the dining-room elevator. To be convenient for you.”
Her fine eyes darkened with disappointment.
“Why, darling, you know I hate being near the elevators. The noise of them keeps up till all hours. After what I’ve been through I must have my proper rest. You’ll just have to go back to the steamship office and make an exchange.”
He shifted in his chair and passed his hand over his face. He said,—“Now, look here, Camilla, we were quite near the elevators coming over and you didn’t seem to mind.”
“Because I was up late myself then. And I did complain of them. I complained of them several times. Only of course you wouldn’t remember.”
“Well, I’ll go back to the office and see what I can do,” he answered resignedly. He pressed his hand to the injured part of his leg, which was aching.
I hope, she thought, he isn’t going to fuss over that leg every time he is annoyed at me. She closed her eyes and caressed the downy head on her shoulder with her lips. A sensuous peace stole over her.
He took the brightly-coloured plan of the ship from his pocket, put on his glasses and examined it earnestly.
After a moment she said,—“The man across the way is visiting his wife, too. His name is Captain Rendel.”
“He came up in the elevator with me.”
“Oh. What’s he like?”
“Like all other Englishmen. Afraid I’d speak to him.”
“Did you?”
“Of course not. He had some flowers in a paper. It looked like about three daisies.”
“Goodness!” She laughed. “Is he good-looking?”
“Tall and thin with a kind of bend in the middle. I liked his clothes.”
“Well, I must say, Robert, you look nice enough for anyone this morning.”
He was gratified. “Thanks, Camilla.”
The nurse came in for the baby.
“Let’s have a look at him,” said Wylde, “in the daylight—such as it is.”
“He’s a beauty, sir,” said the nurse.
She put the baby into his arms.
He limped to the window and scrutinized it with a tender half-humorous look.
“My wife thinks he’s like me,” he remarked to the nurse.
She thought him very good-looking and said:
“I hope so, sir.”
“Is that a sort of compliment?” he asked with a boyish grin.
“You really shouldn’t be holding him,” interrupted his wife’s voice. “Dear knows how germy your clothes are.”
“That’s true,” he agreed, and handed over the baby.
The nurse carried him off.
“Robert,” said his wife solemnly, “we must give him every advantage we possibly can.”
“You bet,” he agreed.
In the room across the way the Rendels were talking about their baby.
Phyllis Rendel chuckled. “It’s ridiculous,” she said, “how fast the tiny things develop. At any rate I hadn’t realized till this minute that he has eyebrows. Look at them.”
“I’m dashed if I can see any.”
“Look from this angle. They’re almost white but they’re there.”
“What amuses me is his nose. He’s a funny-looking little codger altogether.”
“Certainly he’s not so pretty as Clive was at his age. He takes after his poor mother, I’m afraid.”
“I hope he does. One like me is enough.”
“Dick, don’t pretend you don’t know you’re handsome.”
“Then don’t you go calling yourself his poor mother.”
They laughed together. They were relieved that the ordeal was over. The child was healthy. Now they could return to their home in the country. Soon Phyllis would be able to ride again. Their life would go on in its accustomed pleasant groove. The baby had been born in the London nursing home because Mrs. Stuart-Grattan, Phyllis Rendel’s mother, had a deep-seated distrust of the general practitioner in the country. He had attended her daughter when the first child was born and she had had a very bad time. Mrs. Stuart-Grattan had plenty of means and a strong will. If Phyllis would have her baby in the nursing home, she would pay all expenses. She had, and the expenses were heavy.
The two fathers stood waiting for the lift. The passage was dim. The wan electric light made the men’s faces sallow, gave them a careworn look of false age. Robert Wylde leaned heavily on his stick and stared through the iron grille behind which the lift would appear. He would come again in the evening to see Camilla. Between then and now the day stretched purposeless, except for the visit to the steamship office. He wished Camilla had been satisfied with the stateroom. Still, he supposed she was right. It might be noisy.
The lift was coming. It stopped. Neither man moved forward to enter first. Then, seeing he was expected to because of his stick, Wylde stepped hastily through the door. The floor of the lift was not quite level with the floor of the passage. He stumbled and would have fallen but for Dick Rendel, who caught him by the arm and held him. Reddening with annoyance at what he looked on as his own stupidity, Wylde thanked him. The lift slid downward. In silence they descended, passed through the hall and into the street. The pale sunlight had deepened to a dusky gold. A flower-seller’s barrow appeared around the corner. The Englishman turned suddenly to the American.
“I hope you weren’t hurt,” he said.
“Oh, no. I’ve been in an accident and it’s made me clumsy, that’s all.”
“You’re from America, eh?”
“Yes, my accident kept us here. That’s why our baby was born in London.” He had a sudden desire to talk to another man. “I suppose you live here,” he said.
“No,” answered Rendel vaguely. “In the country.” And he added with unexpected familiarity, “How is your family doing?”
“Fine, thanks. How’s yours?”
“Couldn’t be better. It’s my second son. The other is three years old.”
Nurse Jennings, in her outdoor things, passed them on her way to meet Edgar. She gave them a swift, appraising look. She had a queer light-headed feeling as she passed them. Then she giggled and giggled.
CHAPTER II
THE cross-Channel steamer was nearing the cliffs of Dover. The sun was shining but there was a shrewdness in the breeze. It was late spring. Camilla Wylde turned up the collar of her coat and drew the rug about her knees. She wished Robert were there to do it for her. But he never seemed to be on hand at the moment when he was needed. Now he had not been near her for