"Indeed!" said the First Old Woman, with good-humoured sarcasm. "Is coming behind the scenes every night saying nothing? Was throwing you the flowers saying nothing? Was standing outside your window last night for a full hour and a half--I saw him with my own eyes, my dear! I did; and envied you--was that saying nothing? I declare, then, I shall set my cap at him; I may as well take a chance in the lottery. He's as handsome a young fellow as ever walked in two shoes, and if you intend to disappoint him----"
"O, but I don't," interrupted Margaret, apprehensively.
Whereupon they fell to kissing one another, and baby came in for her share.
[CHAPTER XI.]
"I AM GOING TO SPEAK OUT," SAID PHILIP.
When Philip made his appearance that evening behind the scenes, the First Old Woman smiled significantly at him, and once, when her cue to go on the stage was given, she cried to him, of malice aforethought:
"O, dear me! I'm wanted on the stage! Hold my baby, Mr. Rowe, till I come off again."
And before he had time to utter a word one way or another, baby was in his arms, and the mother darted away, laughing to herself.
Philip was not ashamed of his burden; he nursed the baby tenderly, but somewhat gingerly, it must be confessed--fearful, perhaps, lest he should break the little thing, or dislocate something. Margaret, who was on the stage at the time, looked at him furtively as he was kissing the mite, and her mind was in such a whirl, that for the first time during her engagement she forgot the words she had to speak. Observing which the First Old Woman made matters worse by whispering sly nonsense in Margaret's ear. Little did the unconscious baby suspect the important part she was playing in the sentimental comedy.
Later on in the night, Philip said to Margaret: