“Mary, I want to draw Rosamond,” said Stefan thoughtfully.
“Oh, do you, dearest? That will be nice!” she exclaimed, her face breaking into a smile of pleasure.
“Yes. Do you know, I was watching the little thing this afternoon, when Gunther and all the others were playing with her. It's very strange—I never noticed it before—but it came to me quite suddenly. She's exactly like my mother.”
“Is she really?” Mary murmured, touched.
“Yes, it's very wonderful. I felt suddenly, watching her eyes and smile, that my mother is not dead after all. Will you—” he seemed a little embarrassed—“could you, do you think, without disturbing her, let me hold the baby for a little while?”