A PARTIAL SURRENDER.
In the midst of Derrice's frolic with the baby, Captain White appeared in the doorway. "Good night," he said, composedly.
"Just as if he were going to bed," Chelda superciliously reflected. This assemblage was becoming altogether too plebeian for her taste.
Derrice turned around in reproachful surprise. "Captain White, I particularly hoped that you would not come."
"Did you, Cousin Derrice? I guess you haven't a monopoly of this house. Mrs. Prymmer's off to a religious tea-party with some of the sisters, and Mrs. Negus, seeing me on the steps and thinking I looked lonely, asked me over. Please give me that baby."
"I am just having a little play with him myself."
"Keep him if you can," said Captain White. "Come, beauty," and he held out his arms to the child. "Look at him now."
Hobbling over the floor, helping himself along by means of a hand and a foot, waving his other hand in the air, chuckling and choking in babyish delight, the tiny creature made his way to Captain White's feet, and attempted to climb up his legs.
The man tossed him to the ceiling, laughing meanwhile at Derrice, who sat in pretended dejection at the baby's desertion of her.
Captain White's twinkling eyes danced over every person in the room. He possessed no organ of reverence. Miss Gastonguay and her niece were no more to him than the humblest persons in the town, and, coolly tripping away to the hall, he engaged in a long conversation with the baby, of which such highly intelligible scraps as "Linktum, toddyum, widdy wee Bootses—" occasionally floated to the people left behind.