"Why, no. I have heard nothing about him since the night of the dinner given in honor of your betrothal. Are you tired, Cora, dear? You look tired. Shall I show you to your room, where you may bathe your face?" inquired Violet, noticing for the first time the pale and weary aspect of her visitor.
"No; but you may bring the baby here to see me."
"My baby? Oh, the little angel has just been put to sleep—its afternoon sleep. Come into the nursery, and I will show it to you," exclaimed the proud and happy mother, starting up and leading the way to the upper floor and to a front room over the library, fitted up beautifully as a nursery. Corona, on entering, was conscious of a blending of many soft bright colors, and of a subdued rainbow light, like the changes of the opal.
Violet led her directly to the cradle, an elegant structure of fine light wood, satin and lace, in which was enshrined the jewel, the treasure, the idol of the household—a tiny, round-headed, pink-faced little atom of humanity, swathed in flannel, cambric and lace, and covered with fine linen sheets trimmed with lace, little lamb's-wool blankets embroidered with silk, and a coverlet of satin in alternate tablets of rose, azure and pearl tablets.
The delighted mother and the admiring visitor stood gazing at the babe, and talking in low tones for ten or fifteen minutes perhaps, and were then admonished by the nurse—an experienced woman—that it was not good for such young babies to be looked over and talked over so long when they were asleep.
Violet and her visitor softly withdrew from the cradle, and Corona had leisure to look around the lovely room, the carpet of tender green, like the first spring grass, and dotted over with buttercups and daisies; the wall paper of pearl white, with a vine of red and white roses running over it; the furniture of curled maple, upholstered in fine chintz, in colors to match the wall paper. But the window curtains were the marvels of the apartment. There were two high front windows, draped in rainbow silk—that is, each breadth of the hangings was in perfect rainbow stripes, and the effect of the light streaming through them was soft, bright, and very beautiful.
"It is a creation! Whose?" inquired Corona, as she stood before one of the windows.
"Well, it was my idea, though I am not at all noted for ideas, as everybody knows," said Violet, with a smile. "But I wanted my baby's first impressions of life to be serenely delightful through every sense. I wanted her to see, when she should open her eyes in the morning, a sphere of soft light and bright, delicate shades of color. So I prepared this room."
"But where did you find the rainbow draperies?"
"Oh, them! I designed them for my baby, and Fabian sent the pattern to Paris, and we received the goods in due time. I will tell you another thing. I have an Æolian harp for her. It is under the front window of the upper hall, but its aerial music can reach her here when it is in place. When she is a little stronger I am going to have a music box for her. Oh, I want my little baby to live in a sphere of 'sweet sights, sweet sounds, soft touches.'"