“I wonder,” she mused as she looked across the room at the soft, pink sofa bathed in firelight, “I wonder if I shouldn't look better on that couch under those roses.”
Aggie was very emphatic in her opinion to the contrary. “Certainly not!” she said.
“Then,” decided Zoie with a mischievous smile, “I'll get Alfred to carry me to the couch. That way I can get my arms around his neck. And once you get your arms around a man's neck, you can MANAGE him.”
Aggie looked down at the small person with distinct disapproval. “Now, don't you make too much fuss over Alfred,” she continued. “YOU'RE the one who's to do the forgiving. Don't forget that! What's more,” she reminded Zoie, “you're very, very weak.” But before she had time to instruct Zoie further there was a sharp, quick ring at the outer door.
The two women glanced at each other inquiringly. The next instant a man's step was heard in the hallway.
“How is she, Mary?” demanded someone in a voice tense with anxiety.
“It's Alfred!” exclaimed Zoie.
“And we haven't any baby!” gasped Aggie.
“What shall I do?” cried Zoie.
“Lie down,” commanded Aggie, and Zoie had barely time to fall back limply on the pillows when the excited young husband burst into the room.