Again! She got up and opened the door.
She gasped at the spectacle of Angelica with a baby in her arms.
"My dear Angelica!" she cried. "I never——”
"Let me sit down," said Angelica. "I’m dead tired."
So she came into Polly’s tranquil sitting-room, as out of place there as a wild animal—the fierce, rough Angelica with her wailing baby. She sat down on the sofa and held the child up—a wretched, frail little creature, with a wizen, troubled face.
"See him? Two months old."
"He’s sweet. But, my dear, I didn’t know you were married."
"I’m not married. Listen, Mrs. Geraldine! I got to have a talk with you."
"Of course! But, my dear, isn’t there something you could do for your baby? He seems so——”
"He’s sick. He’s sick all the time; but the doctor says if he gets good care, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t grow up strong and all right. It does make him kind of an extra trouble now, but after you’ve had him here a few months, Mrs. Geraldine——”