“Does she leave the child locked in the room alone?” demanded the outraged grandmother.
“Well, what else can she do?” replied the landlady. “But she’s always home by quarter past ten.”
So they came again at that time. Maisie had brought in a sandwich and a piece of cake for her supper, and had spread them out on the table. The baby’s food was simmering over the gas jet, and the baby itself was propped up with pillows on the bed, jolly as a sandboy. Maisie had taken off her evening frock and put on a short, old-womanish sort of flannel dressing sack. Her short dark hair hung loose about her neck. She looked startled when she opened the door.
The senior Mrs. Tracy was an impressive woman, tall, slender, straight, with a high-bridged nose and pale, restless eyes. She had an arrogant spirit, but she came prepared to hold it in subjection, and to cajole, if necessary. She must and would have her grandchild.
Moreover, she fell in love with the baby at once. It was a vigorous, wild little thing, with rough dark hair and a glance farouche and bright. It was rather undersized, but perfectly formed and healthy.
“And she’s dressed it like a monkey!” she thought angrily. “The child is certainly ten months old, and still in those ridiculous long clothes, and that absurd jacket! And why a bonnet in the house?”
Mrs. Tracy considered all this as evidence of Maisie’s lack of maternal feeling, and she was astounded when the girl refused to sell her baby.
“Oh, no, thank you!” she persisted. “Oh, thank you very much, but I’d rather not. Thanks, but really I can’t!”
The lawyer and Mrs. Tracy pointed out to her how grossly selfish she was, and told her that she thought only of her own pleasure, and not of the child’s advantage. Maisie kept to herself certain ideas she had about these advantages. She was terrified, but resolute. She would not give up the baby.