She knew about babies; implanted in her had always
been a perfect madness to possess one.
She and the red-faced Major talked babies. Letty, knowing nothing
about babies and not deeply interested, lay back in her seat,
watching Ailsa in the dim light of the ceiling lamps. She seemed
never to have enough of Ailsa. It had been so from the first.
In Baltimore dawn was breaking when Ailsa awoke at the summons of
the major; and he remained devoted to the two nurses of Sainte
Ursula, attending to their baggage and transfer across the city,
finding seats in the waiting-room already invaded by the officers
of several regiments in transit, and finally saw them safely aboard
the cars again.
"Good-bye, little ladies," he said cheerily. "If I'm hit, God send
one of you to wash my face for me. My card, ladies--if I may be
permitted the honour. I'm to be at Fortress Monroe as soon as my
command leaves Baltimore."
After he had gone away, Ailsa looked at his card:
A. J. DENISLOW
MAJOR, ART., U. S. A.
"I thought he was a regular," she said, smiling at Letty. "He's a
perfect old dear. Shall we open the parcel and see what he has
left us for breakfast?"
There was more milk, more peaches and pears, more bread and butter,
and a cold roast chicken; and they made very merry over it, doing
the best they could without knife and fork.
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