The baby felt the grip of a stronger arm, wrinkled its features and appeared to scan the dark, trembling face above it.
"He knows me! Mrs. Ufford, he knows me!" cried the man.
"Maybe so, maybe so," she said, soothingly. "You'll keep him, won't you, now?"
"Keep him? Keep him?" he repeated, "why he's all I've got of hers—all! He's Lou's and mine, together! He's—"
"Hush, hush!" she warned him, "here's a crowd already! We're right out in the street, Mr. Williston! Come back with me. Yes, keep him if you want to."
She turned to Caroline, neglected and wide-eyed, in the brougham.
"You see how it is, dear," she said hastily, "he wants it, after all. I can't help bein' glad. It ain't always that money does the most, you know. And he's the baby's father. Don't you mind, will you?"
Caroline gulped.
"I—I guess not," she answered bravely. "But I did want him!"
"I know. You meant all right," the woman assured her. "You're real—there's your coachman runnin'. He saw the crowd gatherin', prob'ly. Good-by, dear."