poor, no little one like this had been in her own home or so near her in all the years of her widowhood. It was the sight of that strong mother love, overpowering and sweeping all before it, recognizing no lesser call—the secret and holy power that lies in the Christ-mother, for all periods and all peoples—she herself had felt it—and the cry that had burst from Cassandra's lips, "My baby—he is mine." Tears stood in Lady Thryng's eyes, and yet it was such a simple little thing. Mothers and babies? Why, they were everywhere.
"She moved like a tragic queen," said Lady Clara. "What was the matter?"
"Nothing, only her baby had been crying; but wasn't he a love?" said Lady Laura.
"I say! He was a perfect dear!" said one and another.
"I don't care much for babies," said Lady Clara. "They ought to be trained to stay with their nurses and not cry after their mammas like that. Fancy having to take such a child around with one everywhere, even in making a formal call, you know! Isn't it absurd? American women spoil their children dreadfully, I have heard."
To be continued...
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