"Have all children a habit of sticking their fingers in their mouths, or is it an invention of my young hopeful?" asks Linda, after she has hastily kissed and caressed the child. "He will be pretty, the little brat. It is a pity that his hair will not grow. When he had typhoid fever or measles--what was it, Felix?"
"Scarlet fever," he replied, tenderly raising the tiny man in his arms.
"Oh, yes, scarlet fever; we had to cut his hair, and since then it has never grown long."
"I think you can be satisfied with him as he is," says Elsa, looking approvingly at the handsome child.
"Yes, he is a nice little thing," admits Linda; "he has splendid eyes, the true Lanzberg eyes. Oh, I am so glad that he resembles Felix."
"Well, his beauty would not have suffered if he had resembled you," replies Elsa, with an admiring glance at her sister-in-law.
Linda's physique has developed splendidly. The discontented expression which formerly disfigured her face has vanished, has given place to a bewitching smile and brilliant glance. Negligence and grace are united in her carriage. She displays the gayety and cordiality of a person who is satisfied with herself. Laying her arm caressingly around Elsa's waist, she whispers: "So you really do not find me too homely for a Lanzberg; one would not guess from my looks where I come from, eh?"
"Where you come from?--from the world of society--that certainly," says Elsa.
"Bah! From an iron foundry!" cries Linda, laughing.
Elsa glances once more at the picturesque distinction of the slender figure near her.