"Is that you, May?" it said. "This is Josephine Morgan. Did you get a dinner invitation from me yesterday? Not hearing from you, I've been trying to get you on the telephone all evening, but no one answered."
"I know," I said, cheerfully. "Awfully sorry. I've been busy. I've got a baby."
Maria Annunciata stirred in her sleep. Speaking very softly, that I might not awaken her, I told Josephine the story of my adventure.
"Come and see her soon," I ended. "I mustn't talk any more. Annunciata is here beside me. She's absolutely different from any other child in the world. Good night."
I undressed slowly, stopping at intervals to study the pleasing effect of Maria Annunciata's short black curls on the pillow. At last, moving very carefully for fear of disturbing her, I crept into bed. As promptly as if the yielding of the mattress had been a signal that set her tiny body in motion, Maria Annunciata awoke, smiled at me, cuddled into the curve of my left arm, reached up, and firmly grasped my left ear. Then, with a long sigh of ineffable content, she dropped back into slumber.
The only light was the soft glow of an electric bulb behind an amber shade. The button that controlled it was within easy reach of my hand; a touch would have plunged the room into darkness. But I did not press the little knob. Instead, I lay for a long, long time looking at the sleeping child beside me.
There was a soft knock at the door. It opened quietly and my servant appeared.
"Mr. and Mrs. Morgan are outside," she whispered. "They say they've come to see the baby."
"But," I gasped, "it's after eleven o'clock!"
"I know. Mrs. Morgan said they couldn't wait till morning. Shall I show her in?"