"Of course," he went on, "we've got to get the tenants out of the flat first. I thought mebbe you'd come to Miss Squibb's with me till the flat was ready!"
"I don't think I should like that," she answered.
"No, mebbe not, but I'm terribly lonesome without you, Eleanor. It's been miserable all this while!..."
She put her arms about him and kissed him. "Poor old thing," she said.
"And I'd like you to come home as soon as possible."
Mrs. MacDermott brought the baby into the room. "John says he's an ugly child," she said to Eleanor, glancing angrily at her son.
"Oh, John!" Eleanor exclaimed reproachfully. "He isn't ugly. He's handsome!..."
"Well, I don't know what women call beautiful or handsome," John said, "but if you call that screwed-up face good-looking, then I don't know what good looks are!"
"I'm sure you weren't half so beautiful as baby is," Eleanor murmured.
Mrs. MacDermott put the child in its mother's arms, and happed the covering about its head. "Eight pounds he weighed when he was born," she said. "Eight pounds! And then you say he isn't beautiful! And him your own son, too!"