“Well now,” Laura prophesied with a faint lilt of triumph, “I guess she won’t be so pig-headed.”
“Nesta,” Maida said. “What a sweet name! I’ll go to-morrow morning at—” And then the telephone rang again. Maida took the message. “It’s Floribel,” she announced in a serious voice. “They’ve lost the last train. We’ve got to get breakfast.”
“If we’re going to get up as early as that,” Laura declared, “I’m going to bed now. I’m so tired that I’m cross.”
“I told you things always go by three’s,” Rosie triumphantly reminded them.
CHAPTER XXIII SILVA’S STORY
When Maida woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of a baby’s crying. It was not however a sick cry; it was a sleepy cry. She glanced swiftly at the clock; then jumped out of bed. Rosie was standing in the doorway, Nesta, wearing one of Delia’s nightgowns, in her arms.
“You never woke me up, Rosie Brine,” Maida accused her friend.
“I tried to,” Rosie replied. “Honest I did. But you couldn’t seem to wake up. And when I realized what a day you had yesterday and what a day might be before you, I thought it would be better to let you sleep. Laura and I got breakfast. We’ve given the baby her bath and I am now taking her to bed.”