"How's that?" she breathed faintly.
Controlling her impulse to smile, Aggie crossed to the dressing-table
with a business-like air and applied to Zoie's pink cheeks a third
coating of powder.
Zoie sat bolt upright and began to sneeze. "Aggie," she said, "I just
hate you when you act like that." But suddenly she was seized with a new
idea.
"I wonder," she mused as she looked across the room at the soft, pink
sofa bathed in firelight, "I wonder if I shouldn't look better on that
couch under those roses."
Aggie was very emphatic in her opinion to the contrary. "Certainly not!"
she said.
"Then," decided Zoie with a mischievous smile, "I'll get Alfred to carry
me to the couch. That way I can get my arms around his neck. And once
you get your arms around a man's neck, you can MANAGE him."
Aggie looked down at the small person with distinct disapproval. "Now,
don't you make too much fuss over Alfred," she continued. "YOU'RE the
one who's to do the forgiving. Don't forget that! What's more," she
reminded Zoie, "you're very, very weak." But before she had time to
instruct Zoie further there was a sharp, quick ring at the outer door.
The two women glanced at each other inquiringly. The next instant a
man's step was heard in the hallway.
"How is she, Mary?" demanded someone in a voice tense with anxiety.
"It's Alfred!" exclaimed Zoie.
"And we haven't any baby!" gasped Aggie.
"What shall I do?" cried Zoie.
"Lie down," commanded Aggie, and Zoie had barely time to fall back
limply on the pillows when the excited young husband burst into the
room.