"Oh, she's in her room—laying down, I guess."
"Not," enquired Ravenslee, "not—er—in bed, is she?"
"Mr. Geoffrey, I don't know; I'm busy. Go an' see for yourself—she's your wife, ain't she?"
"Why, since you ask, I—er—hardly know," he answered a little ruefully, "anyway, found she shall be."
With the child perched upon his shoulder he strode up-stairs and along wide corridors whose deep carpets gave forth no sound, and so reached a certain door. Here he hesitated a moment, then knocked with imperious hand.
"Come in!" called that voice whose soft inflection had always thrilled him, but never as it did now as, turning the handle, he entered his wife's chamber.
Hermione was standing before a long mirror, and she neither turned nor looked from the radiant vision it reflected; her eyes, her attention, all the feminine soul of her being just then fixed and centered upon the tea gown she was trying on; such a garment as she had gloated over in the store windows, yearned for, but never thought to possess.
"Ann," she sighed, "oh, Ann, isn't it exquisite! Isn't it a perfect dream! Of course it needs a wee bit of alteration here and there, but I can do that. Isn't it good of him to have bought it without saying a word! And there are heaps of dresses and robes and—and everything! A complete trousseau, Ann, dear—think of it! I wonder how he knew my size—"
"Oh, I just guessed it, my dear," answered Ravenslee in the voice of a much experienced husband.
Hermione gasped, and turning, stared at him wide-eyed, seeing only him, conscious only of him. Lifting Hazel to the floor, he seated himself upon her bed and, crossing his legs, eyed her flushed loveliness with a matter-of-fact air. "Really," he continued, "I don't see that it needs any alteration; perhaps the sleeves might be a trifle shorter—show a little more arm. But those flounces and things are perfect! I hope all the other things fit as well?"