“It was partly the dark—the half dark, I mean. Junior’s used to one thing or t’other. There’s no twilight in our house any more than there was where he came from,” she said, rather talking against time than making a suggestion. But the other took it as such.
“It would hurt my eyes, but I could have the blinds raised. Would he be all right then?”
Anna couldn’t say that he would. She looked at Mrs. Langley pleadingly.
“You think he would still be afraid of me?”
“Why, he might be afraid of—the memory of you,” the girl said reluctantly. “If you looked like—the lady he saw in the dark room that made him cry, he might, I suppose——”
But the girl stopped short. No, he mightn’t. Not for all the world would she subject that baby to the danger of a second fright.
“You think I ought to wear something light and pretty?” Mrs. Langley asked almost humbly.
“It would be nice if you should,” Anna returned in noncommittal fashion. “But if you did, you would have to fix your hair in some other way. Having it drawn back so tight wouldn’t go with a nifty dress. Perhaps you could have it a bit looser about your face?”
Anna didn’t know what possessed her. She had almost said phiz. And something within her added that mug wouldn’t be bad. As she thought of a dainty, light gown and soft hair about that ugly yellow face, she had an hysterical impulse to laugh or to burst into tears.
“Perhaps he’d like it frizzed?” suggested Mrs. Langley. And then Anna laughed out naturally.