"You have never been a mother; you don't know what a mother feels like about her only child," Cicely said with an attempt at dignity that sat quaintly upon her small person and drew an amused laugh from her cousin. "I believe it would kill me if anything really happened to Baba," she went on, more gravely; "you think I'm just a silly, frivolous thing, but—Baba is all the world to me."
"I know, dear; I know quite well," Rupert answered kindly; "and nobody could think you silly. But go on and tell me what happened two days ago. We haven't got to James's shortcomings yet."
"Baba ran out into the square, and nobody missed her at first. Then, when that goose of a Jane came back from her wanderings in the kitchen, she found the nurseries empty, and Baba nowhere to be found. There was a tremendous hue and cry; the servants seem to have been on the verge of distraction, and ran off in all directions like frightened hens, leaving James on guard at the door. And, after a few minutes, when the fog lifted, James caught sight of Baba in a strange girl's arms, evidently quite at home with her, and very happy. You know Baba's ducky way of making friends with everybody. James flew out, seized Baba, seems to have thanked her rescuer, and bustled back to the house with the child, without ever dreaming of asking the stranger her name."
"What sort of a person was she?"
"Oh! I don't know. When I asked James he could only say: 'Well, my lady, she seemed a nice respectable young person'; but heaven knows what James means by a young person. He further volunteered that she was rather shabbily dressed; and I can't bear to think that she went away with no thanks from me, and with no reward."
Rupert smiled down into his cousin's pretty, eager face.
"Perhaps the thought of reward never entered her head? There are still some disinterested people left in the world. And Baba is a very fetching little being to rescue from the dangers of a fog."
"She looked so fetching that morning, too. I came in just after she was brought back, and there she was, the little monkey, in her red cloak which she had found in the hall, where, needless to say, it ought not to have been; with no hat, and all her curls in a delicious tangle, her face so soft and pink, and her eyes shining. She looked a delectable baby, but, Rupert, she had on the most valuable lace frock, and pearls round her neck. Only think what might have happened if some horrible person had found her. My pretty baby," and Cicely's face grew suddenly white and grave, whilst she shivered at the picture conjured up by her own mind.
"I asked James why he hadn't told the 'young person' to give him her name and address, and he could only say feebly that 'it never crossed his mind.' Poor James, I don't believe he's got a mind."
"You could advertise for the young lady. If you really want to find her, an advertisement in some leading paper should unearth her for you. Perhaps, too, if she was shabbily dressed, a reward might be a god-send to her."