‘No, no, Jerusha! I not mean dat. Only dis villain make lub to de poor gal, and promise to marry her, and now she breakin’ her heart because he so false. Rosa tell me eberyting. She pretend to be asleep in verandah dis morning, and hear all they say. Miss Lizzie ’clare she nebber, nebber marry him now.’
‘She miserable woman if she do,’ said Jerusha. ‘But hush, Aunty Jess, here come Miss Lizzie. Don’t say nuffin ’bout little Henri ’fore her. She too good and sweet! She not like us! I never dare tell her who was his fader.’
As the coolie spoke, Lizzie came up to them, pale but smiling. She carried her basket as usual on her arm, and as soon as she saw little Henri, she drew a small sponge-cake from a selection of such dainties which she carried for the sick, and held it out to him.
‘What a beauty he grows, Jerusha! He will soon be out of arms now, and toddling after you everywhere.’
‘Yes, Missy Liz, he bery fine boy,’ replied the young mother, in a subdued tone.
‘Is anything the matter?’ said Lizzie, quickly glancing from Jerusha to the old nurse. ‘No bad news of Miss Maraquita, I hope, Jessica?’
‘Oh, no, Missy Liz. Missy quite well enough, I guess. ’Tis them she leave behind what feel bad.’
‘You miss her, I daresay, and the White House seems dull without her. Well, you will soon be gay enough when the wedding takes place.’
‘I s’pose so, Missy Liz. Is dat baby at your bungalow all right, missy?’ continued Jessica inquisitively.
Lizzie flushed to the roots of her hair. She had encountered some impertinence on this subject before, and she feared a repetition of it.