"But, my darling mother," exclaimed George, with a look of distress, "you will be perfectly worn out with all this company."
"Mother has nothing to do with that," said Isabel; "we take care of that. If mother takes care of the baby, that is all we expect of her; and Mrs. Reilly is to stay till Philip and I are off."
"And how is this dear little Christmas present?" said George, stooping tenderly over the sleeping infant.
"Lovely," said his mother, smiling.
"As lovely," said Isabel, with a slight laugh, "as such little nuisances ever are."
"Why, Bella dear, don't you love her?" asked George.
"Oh! yes, to be sure, I love her; but I don't see the use of her; nobody wants her."
"I beg your pardon, dear, I want her," interrupted her mother.
"Oh! yes, mother, I don't mean that; I know you want her, and I am sure I am glad you have her; only I mean to say that she has chosen to come at the most inconvenient time possible, as babies always do; and that there is no place here for a baby, and that she deranges everything; and turns the whole house upside down; and I think babies are a nuisance; and then Kate is six years old, and we had no right to expect any more babies; and there were enough of us without her; and I am just going to be married, and it all seems so odd and queer."
Mother laughed, and seemed to think it not at all odd and queer, nor yet did she take to heart Isabel's repugnances; but George said musingly: