“O Mrs. Langley, one would think Joe, Junior, was royalty!” she exclaimed. And then she wanted to cry. Frizzes about that face!
“You’re not well enough anyhow to bother about curl papers. Soft and loose would be just as well,” she murmured with a deepening sense of guilt. She had grown so used to Mrs. Langley that she had forgotten her ugliness until Saturday had impressed it forcibly upon her. She said to herself it was wicked to talk against time as she was. Could that harsh-looking hair ever look smooth? And anyhow, she knew she would never venture to bring the baby hither again.
Mrs. Langley was staring at her. “I suppose he likes your hair, Anna?” she asked with something like craving in her voice.
“Rather. He’s stuck on anything yellow. He clutches at the sunshine and he reached for Mr. Langley’s watch.”
“If I will have Bell put the blinds up as far as they will go, will you bring him again on Saturday afternoon, Anna?” Mrs. Langley asked almost eagerly, and added, “You’ll have to come early to catch the sunshine, for there isn’t any after the middle of the afternoon.”
“O but Mrs. Langley, you could never stand the strong sunlight all at once. Your poor eyes! You must let it in little by little!” protested the girl.
Mrs. Langley looked hard at her. “Anna Miller! You have made up your mind you won’t bring him,” she declared.
“I don’t want him to cry again. Neither do you; so it’s partly for your sake,” Anna declared.
“But you said he wouldn’t cry if I did all that?”
Anna remained silent.