I could not while he was thus frightened explain to him what had driven me to him in such alarming haste.
"I've brought you the baby to kiss," I said, unfolding the blanket, and holding up the sprawling little goddess towards the face that towered above me.
"Was it dying for a kiss then?" he said, taking her, blanket and all, from my arms.
The end of the blanket swept across his easel, and smeared the face of the baby in a picture of the Three Kings, at which he was working.
"O Percivale!" I cried, "you've smeared your baby!"
"But this is a real live baby; she may smear any thing she likes."
"Except her own face and hands, please, then, Percivale."
"Or her blessed frock," said Percivale. "She hasn't got one, though. Why hasn't the little angel got her feathers on yet?"
"I was in such a hurry to bring her."
"To be kissed?"