pleaded:
"Please, mother! It is Mr. Herriott: let him in. He has been so good to me – please – please!"
"If I do, you are not to talk and bring back that spell of coughing."
The door was swung fully open, and Mr. Herriott confronted "Juno."
"You are Mr. Herriott, as I supposed. Walk in, and excuse the confusion of the rooms. I was up all night, and have not put things in order."
She wore a dark skirt and white muslin sacque, loose at the throat, ungirded, and the sleeves were rolled up, exposing the symmetry of her dimpled white arms. A rich, lovely red stained her lips and cheeks – perhaps from embarrassment, probably from the heat of the oil-stove, on which, evidently, breakfast had been recently prepared. She pointed to an adjoining room, where Leighton lay on a cot close to the open window.
"Oh, sir, are they really for me?" as Mr. Herriott laid the basket and flowers beside him.
"Look, mother! Grapes, grapes! And the smell of the carnations! Was there ever anything so sweet? I don't know how to thank you, sir. I wish I could say something, but when my heart is full I just can't tell it."
His little hot hand caught Mr. Herriott's, and the thin fingers twined caressingly about it.
"You are not to thank me, and you must not talk. Remember, that was the condition upon which I was allowed to see you. Eat your grapes while your mother tells me about you."
"You will spoil him. I can't give him such luxuries as hothouse fruit and flowers, though now and then he has his bunch of violets."
"When was the doctor here?"
"Friday. He changed the medicine, but I can see no benefit as yet."
"If you think it would not tire him too much, I should like to take him out for a drive."
"Thank you, but I could not consent to that."
"Why not? The fresh air is balmy to-day, and would do him good. I have a carriage at the door, and if you are unwilling to trust the boy with me, I should be glad to take you also. May I?"
Her blue eyes glittered and her lips straightened their curves.
"Most certainly not."
"Pardon me, madam; my interest in your child – "
"Does not justify a man of your position in taking a 'department store saleswoman' to drive on Sunday through public places."
"Perhaps you are right. Then I shall efface myself promptly, and you and Leighton can keep the carriage as long as you like."
"Such favors I accept from no man."
"Not even to help your sick boy?"
She put her hand on the child's shining curls, and a world of tenderness glorified her velvet eyes.
"Not even for my very own baby could I incur such an obligation."
"Smell them, mother – like spice! Don't they make you think of the carnation garden in San Francisco, where Uncle Dane used to carry us?"
"How long ago was that, Leighton?" asked Mr. Herriott, watching the woman's face.
"Oh, it was when I was a little chap and wore frocks."
"Were you born in San Francisco?"
"No. He was born in – Territory."
"Mrs. Dane, can you tell me what became of the artist Belmont?"
"Why do you ask me that question?"
"In order to get an answer. He painted your face for his 'Aurora,' and the picture was photographed."
"Yes; I needed money, and Mr. Dane permitted him to come to our house for the sittings. That was my first and last experience as a model."
"I have met you before."
She straightened herself, and answered defiantly:
"Probably I have sold you gloves, or socks, or handkerchiefs – certainly not the right to meddle with my personal affairs."
"I went with a San Francisco friend to see a night school for women, which his mother had established. You were there."
"Yes, I was there two winters. Now, sir, have you a police badge hidden inside your coat? Are you playing reporter – disguised as a benevolent gentleman – hunting up the details of last night's meeting and riot at Newark? You know, of course, that I made a speech there?"
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