“And you are alone, without kindred, in Baltimore?”
“Yes, except my baby. I wish you could see Bobby—he is so sweet!”
“He must be.”
“He has Nell’s eyes and her golden curls—you remember?”
“Too well!”
“And her saucy sweet ways—wilful and almost bad—if he were not so sweet and true. But I tire you. Mothers who talk about their babies bore people. I make many good resolves not to talk Bobby, and, break every one.”
“You could never tire me. I am charmed to hear about your boy. Maybe you can find him a little sweetheart in my house. Here we are.”
He lifted me out of the carriage and led me into the house.
“This is an old friend of mine, dear,” he said to his wife. “She is sick and in trouble, and I have brought her to you. Her father’s home used to be my home in Norfolk. Mrs. Norman is Miss Duncan that was.”
She had heard of me. He began to explain how he had met me, but she interrupted.