“To please you! Don't you want her to look her best at your tea?”
“I thought that was it!” he cried, and upon this confirmation of his worst fears he did increased violence to his rumpled hair. “I suspected it, but I wouldn't 'a' believed it! You mean to let this child—you mean to let—” Here his agitation affected his throat and his utterance became clouded. A few detached phrases fell from him: “—Invite MY friends—children's party—ye gods!—think Miss Pratt plays dolls—”
“Jane will be very good,” his mother said. “I shouldn't think of not having her, Willie, and you needn't bother about your friends; they'll be very glad to see her. They all know her, except Miss Pratt, perhaps, and—” Mrs. Baxter paused; then she asked, absently: “By the way, haven't I heard somewhere that she likes pretending to be a little girl, herself?”
“WHAT!”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Baxter, remaining calm; “I'm sure I've heard somewhere that she likes to talk 'baby-talk.'”
Upon this a tremor passed over William, after which he became rigid. “You ask a lady to your house,” he began, “and even before she gets here, before you've even seen her, you pass judgment upon one of the—one of the noblest—”
“Good gracious! I haven't 'passed judgment.' If she does talk 'baby-talk,' I imagine she does it very prettily, and I'm sure I've no objection. And if she does do it, why should you be insulted by my mentioning it?”
“It was the way you said it,” he informed her, icily.
“Good gracious! I just said it!” Mrs. Baxter laughed, and then, probably a little out of patience with him, she gave way to that innate mischievousness in such affairs which is not unknown to her sex. “You see, Willie, if she pretends to be a cunning little girl, it will be helpful to Jane to listen and learn how.”
William uttered a cry; he knew that he was struck, but he was not sure how or where. He was left with a blank mind and no repartee. Again he dashed from the room.