“Tell me what you thought when you first saw your little daughter,” Zizi said, in her pretty, coaxing way. “How old was she?”
“About an hour or so, I think,” Minna said, reminiscently. “And my first thought was, ‘Oh, thank God for a healthy, beautiful baby!’ She was so lovely,—and so strong and perfect! I had hoped she would be all right, but I never looked for such a marvel as came to me!”
“And Mr Varian was as pleased as you were!” Zizi said, gently.
“Oh, yes,—but,” Minna’s face clouded a little, “I don’t know how to express it,—but he never seemed to love Betty as he did our first children. He admired her,—nobody could help it,—but he had a queer little air of restraint about her. It lasted all through life. I can’t understand it,—unless he was jealous——”
“Jealous?”
“Yes, of my love and adoration of the child. Silly idea, I know, but I’ve racked my brain and I can’t think of any other explanation.”
“That doesn’t explain the Varian pearls——”
“No; nothing can explain that! Oh, nothing explains anything! Zizi, you’ve no idea what I suffer! I wonder I keep my mind! Just think of a woman who never had to decide a question for herself, if she didn’t want to,—who never had a care or responsibility that she didn’t assume of her own accord,—who had a husband to care for her, a daughter to love her——”
The poor woman broke down completely, and Zizi had her hands full to ward off the violent hysterics that attacked her at times.
Meantime, Pennington Wise, convinced of the origin of the green smear on Zizi’s frock, was starting forth to prove his conviction.