Something more than a week after the Wyldes had called upon the
Falconers, Juliette suggested, one day, that it was time that they
should return the call.
“You and Pansy can do so this afternoon,” Colonel Falconer replied. “As
for me, I cannot spare a day from those lawyers until I get through my
business, for I am hurrying all I can, that I may take my family away
from the city before the heated term sets in.”
“Then we will call to-day, and we can then find out where they intend
to summer, for I should like to go to the same place,” exclaimed
Juliette.
So at noon that day they found themselves ringing the doorbell at a
residence on Grace Street, quite as elegant as the one they had left.
They were shown into an elegant and tasteful drawing-room, and told
that the ladies would be down directly.
Pansy sat silent, with her eyes fixed on the door, when suddenly it was
pushed ajar by a dimpled little hand, and the figure of a child became
partly visible--a beautiful child, of perhaps three years old. The
little fellow was simply clothed, in a white Mother Hubbard slip, and
his big, dark eyes looked fearlessly at the two ladies.
Pansy’s heart thrilled strangely at sight of the child, for there was
something in his face that suggested Norman Wylde. Holding out her
hands, she cried coaxingly:
“Come here, you pretty little darling!”
The child hesitated a moment, then pattered lightly across the carpet
with his little bare feet to her side. She placed him on her knee, and,
clasping him in her arms, kissed the pretty, rosy face repeatedly.
“What is your name, dear?” she asked.
“Pet!” he replied, while Juliette looked on coldly.
Apparently the child quite reciprocated the fancy Mrs. Falconer had
shown for him. While she smoothed his sunny curls with loving hands, he
patted her cheek tenderly, and cooed:
“Pretty yady, pretty yady!”
Suddenly the door unclosed, admitting Mrs. Wylde, the stately matron,
and her handsome daughter, Rosalind. They frowned at sight of the
pretty child, and, after exchanging greetings with their guests,
Rosalind exclaimed sharply:
“What are you doing here, Pet? Get down this instant, and go away.”
But, to her astonishment, the little one clung to Pansy, and cried out
rebelliously:
“No, no, me stay ’ith pretty yady!”
“The little monkey! He never offered to disobey me before,” exclaimed
Rosalind, frowning, and she removed him by force from Pansy’s lap, for
he screamed and struggled to stay.
“Oh, please let me keep him. I love children!” exclaimed Pansy
pleadingly; but just here Mrs. Wylde chimed in:
“You do not quite understand, Mrs. Falconer. The child belongs to my
housekeeper, who adopted him in infancy. She has her orders to keep
him in her own part of the house, but occasionally he slips away and
intrudes upon us, although this is the first time he has ever ventured
into the drawing-room.”
“It was my fault. I called him in when I saw him peeping in at the
door. He was such a lovely little child, and I thought he belonged
to you,” said Pansy, as her yearning eyes followed Rosalind, who was
leading the sobbing child from the room.
“He is a very pretty child, and usually a very good-tempered,
affectionate one,” Mrs. Wylde acknowledged. “This is the first time
I ever saw him display any temper. Indeed, I have felt myself on the
verge of falling in love with the little creature often, only I would
not allow myself to do so, being convinced that he must be a child of
shame.”