“Ha! what’s the matter?”
Margaret read—“Will you ask papa whom I had better call in to see the baby. There does not seem to be anything positively amiss, but I am not happy about her. There is a sleepiness about her which I do not understand, and, when roused, she is fretful, and will not be amused. There is a look in her eyes which I do not like, and I should wish to have some advice for her. Lady Leonora recommends Mr.—, but I always distrust people who are very much the rage, and I shall send for no one without papa’s advice.”
“Let me see!” said Dr. May, startled, and holding out his hand for the letter. “A look about the eyes! I shall go up and see her myself. Why has not she brought her home?”
“It would have been far better,” said Margaret.
“Sleepy and dull! She was as lively a child when they took her away as I ever saw. What! is there no more about her? The letter is crammed with somebody’s fete—vote of want of confidence—debate last night. What is she about? She fancies she knows everything, and, the fact is, she knows no more about infants—I could see that, when the poor little thing was a day old!”
“Do you think there is cause for fear?” said Margaret anxiously.
“I can’t tell. With a first child, one can’t guess what may be mamma’s fancy, or what may be serious. But Flora is not too fanciful, and I must see her for my own satisfaction. Let some one write, and say I will come up to-morrow by the twelve o’clock train—and mind she opens the letter.”
Dr. May kept his word, and the letter had evidently not been neglected; for George was watching for him at the station, and thanked him so eagerly for coming, that Dr. May feared that he was indeed needed, and inquired anxiously.
“Flora is uneasy about her—she seems heavy, and cries when she is disturbed,” replied George. “Flora has not left her to-day, and hardly yesterday.”
“Have you had no advice for her?”