CHAPTER XI

The baby changed from a novelty into a treasure; to the period of ecstatic delight there succeeded the scientific business of infant care. The expert nurse having brought her patient back to Carrington and attended her there until she was full of renewed energy, left and Cecily took charge of her own baby. There was a nursemaid during the daytime, but at night when the sudden, piercing little cry sounded from the next room it was Cecily herself who went to find out whether it was hunger or cold that caused it. The responsibility matured her as responsibility matures the average woman. It tired her physically and numbed her mind a little.

“You mustn’t let your cradle become an obsession,” said her mother.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t let myself get too absorbed. It wouldn’t be fair to Dick,” said Cecily, rather automatically.

“I wonder if you give Dick quite the attention you used to?”

Cecily looked up, surprised.

“It’s very common,” said her mother easily, “to think too much about the baby and too little about the husband at this time. I hope I don’t seem intrusive, darling, but you stay at home rather a lot.”

“I have to get back to the baby, you see, if I do go out.”

“The baby is six months old, now. You and Dick ought to go away for a vacation. I’ll stay here and get a trained nurse for the baby.”

Cecily did not take her up, but she watched Dick that night at dinner. They did not seem to talk as much as they used to--except about Dorothea. She crossed over to his place and put her hand softly under his chin.

“Do I neglect you, Dick, dear--for the baby?”

“Do I look neglected?” countered Dick. “Nonsense. Don’t talk like a problem play. Besides, how could you neglect me for Dorothea? She’s me, isn’t she?” And he smiled engagingly as only Dick could smile. “If I catch you neglecting me, you’ll hear from me. Who brought this on? Who’ve you been talking to?”

“Nobody. Mother just suggested that I might be a bit too concentrated. She wanted me to go away and leave her in charge.”

“Good idea. I think I could do it next month--if we aren’t going to war.”

“We must wait until after Christmas,” demurred Cecily.

But after Christmas they did not go at once. In January Cecily paid a secret visit to her doctor. When she came home she sat down in her straightest living-room chair and looked about her a little queerly. She was still sitting there half an hour later when Dick came home.

“Well,” said Dick, “how’s my family?”

Cecily made a feeble little joke, which showed considerable progress in adjustment.

“Increasing,” she said, with a catch in her voice.

Dick wheeled around.

“Why, Cecily,--why, you don’t mean we’re going to have another!”

She nodded at him, a medley of expressions on her face, all of them overlaid with that wondering question as to how he would take it.

“You’re sure?”

“Quite.”

They sat down and held each other rather tightly. Responsibilities, more than toys, more than novelties, spread before them. Then like a clear ray of light the same thought came to both of them.

“They’ll be great companions for each other.”

“I was thinking about that.”

Fliss came in that night. There was more than usual radiance in her face. She dashed up for a visit to the nursery, down again to show Dick a new dance step and Cecily felt a little wistful as she watched her. Waiting--illness--the stretch looked very long. She wondered what Fliss would say if she knew.

But Fliss was full of herself and in no mood to inspire confidences. “Why the million-dollar mood?” asked Dick.

Fliss laughed and flushed a little. “I’ve had something happen to me--something nice.”

“Secret? Tell us,” begged Cecily. “I want to hear something pleasant.”

“It’s a real thrill. I’m engaged to be married. I’m to be married next month.”

“Who?”

Fliss had never looked more charming, more provocative. She dangled a gay little slipper from her toes and looked at them half teasingly.

“You’d never guess. A real high-brow. What he’ll ever do with me I don’t know. But he can’t get away now.” And then, worked up to her climax, “I told him I was going to tell you when he wasn’t around--I wanted the fun. It’s Matthew.”

“Well, isn’t that great!” said Dick, with the sincerest congratulation for Fliss and a more than faint wonder in his tone. But Fliss, if she analyzed his tone at all, was not disturbed. She was looking at Cecily.

Over Cecily’s first shock of surprise there clouded a sense of relinquishment, unacknowledged. Deliberately she made herself pleased.

“It’s wonderful.” And, more courteous than Dick, she added, “I’m awfully glad for Matthew.”

Possibly she was not quite quick enough to say it. A little flash lit up Fliss’s brilliant face and she countered with quick frankness. “I get a lot more out of it than Matthew, but he’ll get something, according to my lights, and I may make him happier than people will expect. And,” most laughingly, “we can’t all be perfect Cecilys. And you were taken.”

If Cecily thought the remark based on more than flippancy she gave no sign. When Matthew and Fliss came to see them a few days later and he was alone with Cecily for a few moments she was all congratulation.

“She’ll keep you young, Matthew. She’s always so gay. I can see Dick brighten up whenever she comes in until I’m almost jealous. All men like her.”

“Is that a recommendation for a wife?” he asked a little gravely.

“Don’t be foolish. You know that I mean you’ll be very happy.”

“I will be happy,” he answered. “I am happy.” He paused and looked at her intently. “I am glad that I am going to be married to Fliss and I am glad that you are alive. We take what we can get of happiness.”

When he had gone she did not analyze his words. She did not want to. She put the thought of them aside, her thoughts turning to the things that were always in her mind now. The new baby, and was there going to be a war?

BOOK TWO