"Oh, Lord!" Lester groaned. Instantly there was a third knock that fairly rattled the hinges. "You get rid of her. I'll take him the bottle."
"And make sure you have the formula I worked out!" the voice from the nursery commanded. "I don't want to waste any more time in this wicker cage than I have to!"
When Lester returned to the kitchen he found, with a thrill of horror, that Mrs. Hilliard, a steely glint in her eyes, had forced her way inside. She was a solid woman with a square figure, a square face and undoubtedly a square heart to match, which Lester was certain lay in her bosom like a small granite cornerstone. The wart on her nose was twitching with resolution. Ginny stood, cowed, beside the open door.
"Ginny Holmes," Mrs. Hilliard was saying, "we've been friends ever since you moved here. I was the first one inside your door to welcome you to the neighborhood, and I resent being treated like a stranger now. After all, I only want to help out."
"But, Mrs. Hilliard ..." Ginny tried to say.
"I know you don't want me to see the baby," Mrs. Hilliard went on. "You certainly made that plain enough. And although I don't know why, I can guess. Everyone in the neighborhood has guessed by now."
"Why what do you mean, Mrs. Hilliard?"
"It happened to a cousin of mine; the child was hopelessly malformed. But it's no reflection on you, dear. It's just one of nature's tragedies, and you have to learn to accept it gracefully."
"But, Mrs. Hilliard!" Ginny gasped, her eyes wide with astonishment, "it's nothing like that!"
"And you'll find that everyone in the block is just as sympathetic as I am. We've all wanted to tell you how sorry we are, but if you won't admit it, or even let us see the child...."