“Good lord, she isn’t refined and high-minded,” Peter said. “That’s not the idea. She’s simply supremely sensitive and full of the most pathetic possibilities. If we’re going to undertake her we ought to realize fully what we’re up against, and acknowledge it,—that’s all I’m trying to say, and I apologize for assuming that it’s more my business than anybody’s to say it.”
“That charming humility stuff, if I could only remember to pull it.”
The sofa pillow that Gertrude aimed at Jimmie hit him full on the mouth and he busied himself pretending to eat it. Beulah scorned the interruption.
“Of course, we’re going to undertake her,” Beulah said. “We are signed up and it’s all down in writing. If anybody has any objections, they can state them now.” She looked about her dramatically. On every young face was reflected the same earnestness that set gravely on her own.
“The ‘ayes’ have it,” Jimmie murmured. “From 47 now on I become not only a parent, but a soul doctor.” He rose, and tiptoed solemnly toward the door of Eleanor’s room.
“Where are you going, Jimmie?” Beulah called, as he was disappearing around the bend in the corridor.
He turned back to lift an admonitory finger.
“Shush,” he said, “do not interrupt me. I am going to wrap baby up in a blanket and bring her out to her mothers and fathers.”