There was a late luncheon and then the Major returned to his wife’s sitting room where Aunt Kate was keeping her company with some exquisite needlework for her darling, Zay, who had insisted upon being left alone.
“I have a curious story to read to you that concerns us all. I am glad to have you here, Kate, as a sort of ballast. It was what excited me so this morning and I was very unreasonable. The doctor threatened to put me in a straight jacket.”
Aunt Kate laughed. Mrs. Crawford studied her husband intently.
“Oh, go on with your work. I shall feel more composed.” He turned his chair a little, ostensibly for the light, but so that his wife might not watch his face.
He began with Mrs. Boyd’s list of misfortunes after her few years of happiness and her resolve to go out to her brother’s. At times he stumbled over the poor penmanship and halted.
“Why, it must have been the train I was on,” interrupted Mrs. Crawford. “I remember there was a woman with a delicate looking child. I believe ours were the only two babies. Oh, if I had not taken my little darling! But she was so well and strong, such a fine happy baby, and nurse Jane was so good.”
Mrs. Boyd had hurried briefly over the terrible collision.
“Everett,” interrupted his sister with an indignant emphasis, “why recall that awful happening. It can do us no good now.”
Mrs. Crawford leaned her head on her hand and balanced her elbow on the broad arm of the chair.
The Major’s voice shook slightly. Mrs. Boyd had been quite graphic about her calling for the baby, her care of it from midnight to the next morning and settling her mind to what the woman had said; her resolve to keep the child when she heard the other mother had been killed. She sprang up suddenly.