“I saw him!” she glowed.
“I got him asleep!” whispered Mrs. Marshall. “Don’t take him; you’ll awaken him. Isn’t he looking a little pale?”
There was a fear in the face which leaned over the sleeping child. “He’s not right. I don’t know what’s the matter with him. I’d take him out, but I can’t leave Jim—so soon. It isn’t until Christmas. I’ll have to go then. Do you think he looks sickly?” Her anxious eyes questioned the two women.
Heartily, Innes said she thought he was looking stronger.
“Let me take him out,” suggested Mrs. Marshall. “We’ll be going this week. I’ll take the best of care of him; there’s a splendid children’s doctor in Tucson.”
“Oh, do!” cried Innes. And what a charity for Mrs. Marshall, her empty arms aching for what they that moment held!
“Oh!” cried Molly, pain and relief in her tone.
“Think about it,” whispered Mrs. Marshall. “You don’t have to tell me now.”
Molly lifted her head from a scrutiny of the pallid baby face to see Mrs. Hardin, floating by in her crisp muslins. A few feet behind stalked Godfrey, his eyes on the pretty figure by his side. Innes, watching too, turned from his look, abashed as though she had been peering through a locked door.
Gaily, with a fluttering of ruffles, Gerty established herself on the bank, a trifle out of hearing distance. Innes saw her raise an inviting smile to the Englishman who stood looking uncertainly from her to the river. He dropped beside her on the sand. As Innes pulled her eyes away from them, she met those of Molly Silent, who had also been staring at Tom Hardin’s wife.