"Yes, there is, Miss Doane. I guess—I—I am old-fashioned, but I want a home-wife—a woman who'll love babies, and have them and not feel that they are an impediment to her career. I—I'm—a little dippy on children—I guess—"
He laughed a little shamefacedly. "I want babies in my home—babies that'll climb around me when I come from work—boys and girls that I can love and do for and see grow up into men and women, that'll make me feel that I have really done something for the world—and—and the way Daphne's been brought up—well, her set don't believe in babies—and—rather think motherhood is degrading—and—"
They had came to a corner of the veranda overlooking the part of the lawn where a merry group of little children were playing ring-a-round-a-rosy, and a tall, laughing girl was standing in the middle of the ring, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling, as the clear young voice sang the simple play song. The doctor's face softened and he forgot what he was saying. They stood there a while, watching the happy group. Then, the children becoming tired of the game, Daphne sat down in a rocking-chair under a tree, and they grouped themselves around her feet. She took one of the tiniest into her lap and, cuddling it against her breast, began to rock slowly backward and forward. The words of the old lullaby came softly:
"Rock-a-bye, baby,
On the tree-top,
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock—"
Drusilla looked up at Dr. Eaton and her face broke into tiny little love wrinkles as she saw the look on his face. She put her faded old hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes for a long moment; then she said softly:
"Go on, my boy; and God bless you!"
And the doctor went.
CHAPTER XVIII
At three o'clock on July 16th, there met in the Doane library Mr. Carrington, Mr. Raydon—the multi-millionaire and great friend of Drusilla's—Mr. Thornton, Dr. Eaton, and half a dozen of the residents of Brookvale.