“Well, of course, dear,” admitted Alfred evasively, as he sank down upon the edge of the bed by her side—
“You needn't say another word,” interrupted Zoie, and then with a shade of genuine repentance, she declared shame-facedly that she hadn't been “much of a wife” to Alfred.
“Nonsense!” contradicted the proud young father, “you've given me the ONE thing that I wanted most in the world.”
“But you see, dear,” said Zoie, as she wound her little white arms about his neck, and looked up into his face adoringly, “YOU'VE been the 'ONE' thing that I wanted 'MOST' and I never realised until to-night how—how crazy you are about things.”
“What things?” asked Alfred, a bit puzzled.
“Well,” said Zoie, letting her eyes fall before his and picking at a bit of imaginary lint on the coverlet, “babies and things.”
“Oh,” said Alfred, and he was about to proceed when she again interrupted him.
“But now that I DO realise it,” continued Zoie, earnestly, her fingers on his lips, lest he again interrupt, “if you'll only have a little patience with me, I'll—I'll——” again her eyes fell bashfully to the coverlet, as she considered the possibility of being ultimately obliged to replace the bogus twins with real ones.
“All the patience in the world,” answered Alfred, little dreaming of the problem that confronted the contrite Zoie.
“That's all I ask,” declared Zoie, her assurance completely restored, “and in case anything SHOULD happen to THESE——” she glanced anxiously toward the door through which Aggie had borne the twins.