“Any yet,” laughed George, “it was really nothing at all.”
“Oh no,” said his wife. “Yet after all, perhaps she was right—and perhaps I ought to have gone with her.”
“How charming you are, my poor Henriette! You believe everything you are told. I, for my part, divined right away the truth. The nurse was simply playing a game on us; she wanted a raise. Will you bet? Come, I’ll bet you something. What would you like to bet? You don’t want to? Come, I’ll bet you a lovely necklace—you know, with a big pearl.”
“No,” said Henriette, who had suddenly lost her mood of gayety. “I should be too much afraid of winning.”
“Stop!” laughed her husband. “Don’t you believe I love her as much as you love her—my little duck? Do you know how old she is? I mean her EXACT age?”
Henriette sat knitting her brows, trying to figure.
“Ah!” he exploded. “You see you don’t know! She is ninety-one days and eight hours! Ha, ha! Imagine when she will be able to walk all alone. Then we will take her back with us; we must wait at least six months.” Then, too late, poor George realized that he had spoken the fatal phrase again.
“If only you hadn’t put off our marriage, she would be able to walk now,” said Henriette.
He rose suddenly. “Come,” he said, “didn’t you say you had to dress and pay some calls?”
Henriette laughed, but took the hint.