"And this is Jimmie," I said, taking the child by the shoulder—"the youngest of them."
As Pendleton was stooping toward him, Jimmie uttered a wild scream of heartbreaking terror, wrenched himself from my hold and fled like some little wounded animal toward the house. Pendleton gave a short, mirthless laugh.
My throat was parched, my heart Was thumping like a rabbit's, but how I loved Jimmie at that moment!
"He is only a baby," put in Alicia softly.
Again Pendleton looked at her—obliquely.
"And this is—" he murmured.
"Alicia Palmer," I supplied hastily, "who has been looking after them."
"Ah, Alicia—a little deputy mother—" and he held out his hand with shamefaced suavity.
The scene was over—the incredible episode—commonplace enough as I write it down. But I lived a dozen melodramas in that eternity that a clock would tick off in three or four minutes of time.
CHAPTER XV