But Alfred could not immediately dismiss from his mind the picture of Maggie's inhuman parent.
“Just fancy,” he said, turning his head to one side meditatively, “fancy any man not liking to be the father of twins,” and with that he again bent over the cradle and surveyed its contents. “Think, Jimmy,” he said, when he had managed to get the three youngsters in his arms, “just think of the way THAT father feels, and then think of the way I feel.”
“And then think of the way I feel,” grumbled Jimmy.
“You!” exclaimed Alfred; “what have you to feel about?”
Before Jimmy could answer, the air was rent by a piercing scream and a crash of glass from the direction of the inner rooms.
“What's that?” whispered Aggie, with an anxious glance toward Zoie.
“Sounded like breaking glass,” said Alfred.
“Burglars!” exclaimed Zoie, for want of anything better to suggest.
“Burglars?” repeated Alfred with a superior air; “nonsense! Nonsense! Here,” he said, turning to Jimmy, “you hold the boys and I'll go see——” and before Jimmy was aware of the honour about to be thrust upon him, he felt three red, spineless morsels, wriggling about in his arms. He made what lap he could for the armful, and sat up in a stiff, strained attitude on the edge of the couch. In the meantime, Alfred had strode into the adjoining room with the air of a conqueror. Aggie looked at Zoie, with dreadful foreboding.
“You don't suppose it could be?” she paused.