"I would like tea, please."
"W'ot kind, ma'm?" She did not care what kind, nor know for what to ask, only to have something soon, so she said:—
"I will take what they have."
"Yes, ma'm. Muffins, ma'm?"
"Yes," she replied wearily, and turned to gaze out of the window. Cabs and carriages were rushing up and down the street below them. She placed her little son on the seat beside her and held him with sheltering arm, while he watched the moving vehicles and looked from them to his mother's face.
"What a perfectly lovely child!" said a pleasant voice. "Is it a boy? How old is he?"
Cassandra looked up to see a rosy-cheeked girl, a little too stout and florid, with a great mop of dark hair tied with a wide black ribbon. A gray-haired lady followed, and paused beside her.
"Yes," said Cassandra, faintly. "He is almost six months old."
The girl reached over and patted his cheek. "How perfectly dear. See him, mamma. Isn't he, though?"
"Babies are always dear," said the mother, with a smile. "Come, Laura, we can't wait, you know," and they passed on. As