But at this point the baby asserted himself. The nurse had taken him from his father's arms and was moving toward the door; as he passed Ruth, he made a quick, unexpected spring in her direction, and had not her arms been quick and her grasp firm, there might have been an accident. As it was, he cuddled in her embrace with a gurgle of happiness.
"You young scamp!" said the proud father, with a relieved laugh. "You knew where you meant to land, didn't you? Showed excellent taste, too. He is becoming to you, mommie. You look young enough to-day to be mistaken for his mother. Doesn't she, Irene?"
For Ruth's cheeks had flushed like a girl's, and her heart was beating swiftly under the baby's caresses. She bent her head over the golden one, and murmured some incoherent sentence, while she hid eyes that were filled with tears. It was so rare a thing in these days to get a chance to cuddle that baby!
And then Irene spoke, in a tone of voice that her husband had rarely heard:—
"Rebecca, I did not ring for you. Go away; I will bring the baby myself. I wish you wouldn't! I don't want him kissed nor fondled. Give him to me."
This last, addressed to Ruth, in a tone so sharp and a manner so rude that Erskine in unbounded astonishment said:—
"Irene!"
Just that word, but not as she had ever before heard it spoken.
"I don't care!" she said. "Let her leave my baby alone. I don't want her to touch him, and I won't have it! I won't! I say!"
Her voice had risen almost to a scream.