The presence of the apples seemed to bring back other schoolgirl impulses, for instead of seating herself in dignified, grown-up fashion, she stretched herself on the rug before the fire, her back supported against the chair, her head drooping ever nearer and nearer the cushions, as warmth and quiet wrought their usual work. She slept and dreamt, and awoke with a start to hear a voice observing, “Tea is served, madam!” and to see Montgomery the immaculate standing over her with an unmoved expression, as if, in the many noble families in which he had served, it was an invariable custom to find his mistress fast asleep on the floor, with a half-gnawed apple in her hand!
Esmeralda crawled to her feet, trying vainly to look dignified, but she had no appetite for muffins. She felt like a child who has been found out, and blushed at the thoughts of her embarrassment that evening when the fruit pyramid was handed for her selection. Tea did not taste half so nice out of the Queen Anne silver as when it had been poured from the old brown pot, which had to be refilled so many times to satisfy clamorous appetites, and the longing for companionship made her hurry through the meal, and run upstairs to a wide room overlooking the park.
With the opening of the door came that sweet, flannely, soapy, violet-powdery smell which is associated with a well-kept nursery, and there on the rocking-chair sat Mistress Nurse with a bundle of embroidery on her knee, which purported to be O’Shaughnessy Geoffrey, the heir of the Hilliards.
“Oh, I’m so glad you have come, ma’am! I did so want you to see him. He has been so pert this afternoon. I don’t know what to do with him, he is so pert! I never saw such a forward child for his age!”
Esmeralda’s face softened to a beautiful tenderness as she turned down the Shetland shawl and looked at her little son. The pert child had a fat white face, with vacant eyes, a button of a nose, and an expression of preternatural solemnity. His head waggled helplessly from side to side as his nurse held him out at arm’s length, and stared fixedly into space, regardless of his mother’s blandishments.
“There now, isn’t he pert?” repeated the triumphant nurse. “You know your mammie, my precious—yes, you do! The cleverest little sing that was ever seen! He will begin to talk, ma’am, before he is many months old, I’m sure he will! I was speaking to him just now, and he tried so hard to copy me. I said ‘Goo-oo!’ and he said ‘Coo-oo!’ Oh, you would have loved to hear him! He is a prince of babies, he is! A beautiful darling pet!”
Esmeralda beamed with maternal pride.
“He is clever!” she cried. “Fancy talking at three months old! I must write and tell Bridgie. And he looks so intelligent, too—doesn’t he, nurse? So wise and serious! He stares at the fire as if he knew all about it. I believe his hair has grown since yesterday! I do, indeed!”
“He has beautiful hair—so fine! It’s going to curl, too,” declared the optimistic nurse, holding the child’s head against the light, when the faintest of downs could be dimly discerned across the line of the horizon. “He will smile in a moment if you go on talking to him, ma’am. Perhaps you would like to sit down and take him for a bit?”
Yes, Esmeralda was only too willing, for it was only by act of grace and when Mistress Nurse felt inclined for a gossip in the servants’ hall that she was allowed to nurse her own baby. She took the dear little soft bundle in her arms and rocked gently to and fro, studying the little face and dreaming mother dreams of the days to come.