After an unmeasured lapse of time, Miss Merritt came for the baby.
"Oh, the lambkin! Ain't he sweet, sir?"
Cameron ached in every joint, but he did not know it.
"Take care how you handle him!" he whispered. "It's awful to be
awakened out of one's first sleep!"
"I know better than to wake a sleepin' baby, believe me," said Miss
Merritt with a touch of spice.
The door closed. Cameron sat stretching his stiff arms and legs
and staring before him, and upon his usually tired and lined face
was the beam of full joy.
Then came dinner, a lonely, silent mockery of a meal. And back the
question came, booming over the soft tinkling of glass and silver.
He realized, with his salad, that four nights out of seven, Nellie
dined like this, alone. His lower lip protruded, and lines of
conscience fell in a curtain on his face.
"Mrs. Cameron hates eatin' 'lone, too," said the maid. "She generally
eats early, so 's t' have Billy in his high chair 'longside. If
he sleeps, she reads a book, sir."
He was alone in the sitting-room with his coffee, and the place had
sunk into fathomless silence. It was only half after eight! He
stuck his head out of the window. Soft flakes touched and soothed
his feverish head. "Damn money!" he whispered suddenly, then stood
back in the room, startled, staring his blasphemy in the face.
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