“He have bite me, Mees Morrison. But see this mark on my wrist. I should regret to desert madame, but I give up my place rather than play as the nurse one hour longer.”
The plaint arose from a be-capped young woman whom Dolores later learned to be Annette, Mrs. Cabot’s maid, pressed into emergency service. She had made a shield of a light chair between herself and the boy of eight, or thereabouts, who was pursuing her. The bone of their contention seemed to be a particularly boneless toy dog held above his reach.
Dolores’ first view of John Cabot, Jr., was not heartening. His only recognition of her presence was a scowl. In lurching forward over the chair to recapture his plaything, he slipped and fell, with a shriek more of chagrin than pain, upon the floor. When Morrison and Annette rushed to his assistance, Dolores intervened. She asked that they leave her alone with the boy.
After the closing click of the door she crossed to one of the windows; seated herself in an upholstered chair; gave her attention to the park view.
“Why don’t you come and pick me up?”
At the demand, she turned to see that Master Jack still sprawled on the floor, his chin cupped in his hands, his unchildlike frown upon her.
“I didn’t suppose you’d wish to be picked up—a big boy like you,” she said. “I didn’t suppose you’d even wish me to look at you.”
She regretted the ruse the moment she realized his physical handicap. Having challenged his pride, however, she hesitated to retreat. But an ache for him which never was entirely eased came into her heart as she watched his efforts to achieve his feet; noted the warped condition of his legs; watched his peculiar gait as he approached her—a slithering forward of his feet, with no yield at his knees and hips.
Jack’s upper body was only fairly developed, yet by comparison with his nether limbs his arms looked excessively long. His head, with its luxurious growth of dark brown, slightly curling hair, was large as a gnome’s. At the moment his features were twisted into an expression of resentment. Only his eyes were beautiful, wide-set and Irish-gray in color, with an outsweep of long, almost black lashes.
A certain embarrassment for him, which quickly followed the shock of noting his deformity, caused Dolores to lift her eyes toward a square object wrapped about with a bath towel, which was suspended from the ceiling near the window.