“How is Mrs. Gilderman?” he said, whispering.
“She’s asleep,” whispered the nurse, in answer.
Then he went down-stairs into the library. Everything was unprepared for his coming. The morning newspapers lay in a pile upon the table. He gathered them up and went out into his study, and there settled himself comfortably in his great leather chair by the window that looked out across the street to the leafless vistas of the park beyond. How happy he was! Then he opened the papers and tried to read, and recognized delightfully that he could not detach himself from the joy that possessed him. He was unable to follow the printed words.
Suddenly his man came into the room. He started when he saw Gilderman. “I didn’t know you were up yet, Mr. Gilderman,” he said. “You didn’t ring for me.”
Gilderman burst out laughing. “No,” he said, “it was very early, and it wasn’t worth while. I couldn’t sleep, and so I just got up.”
“Is there anything that I can do, if you please, sir?”
“Nothing, except to fetch me a cup of coffee,” said Gilderman. “I’ll not get shaved now until I dress again after breakfast.”
The man lingered for an instant to arrange something on the table and then went out of the room.
Gilderman ate his breakfast alone. As soon as he had finished he went up-stairs again. The door of his wife’s room was open, and the nurse came to tell him that he might come in. Her morning toilet was over; her face looked singularly sweet and pure and cool lying in the half shade of the pillow. She welcomed him with a smile. As Gilderman came up to the bedside, she softly opened the cover that hid the child’s face. Gilderman bent over and looked at it. Again he wondered that he should be no more sensible to the fact of paternity. The joy was there, but it did not seem to attach itself to its object. He kissed his wife, and then sat down in a chair beside the bed. She held his hand. The only piece of jewelry he wore was a plain gold ring upon his little finger. She had a habit of turning this ring around and around upon the finger, and she did so now. “Where were you yesterday, Henry?” she said, after a while. “Oh, I did so long for you. I kept calling for you all the time. Afterwards I was glad you weren’t here. But where were you? They sent everywhere for you–to the club and up to the riding-school, and they even telegraphed out to De Witt’s.”
Gilderman leaned very tenderly over her. His heart filled at the soft touch of her hand upon his. Then he suddenly determined to tell her all.