“What do you mean?” he asked, turning angrily upon the girl, for of all things he hated mystery.
Like everyone else in the house, and office both, she stood in awe of him, and his look frightened her.
“Please go in the dining-room,” she gasped entreatingly.
“What!” he said and did turn towards the dining-room, “is your mistress so ill she can’t see me?”
“Oh, no, sir!—at least I don’t know exactly. Cook’s with her, sir. She’s over the worst, anyhow.”
“What on earth do you mean, girl? Speak out, will you? What is the matter with your mistress?”
As he spoke he stepped into the room, the maid following him. The same moment he spied a whitish bundle of something on the rug in front of the fire.
“What do you mean by leaving things like that in the dining-room?” he went on more angrily still.
“Please, sir,” answered the girl, going and lifting the bundle carefully, “it’s the baby!”
“The baby!” shouted Mr. Dempster, and looked at her from head to foot. “What baby?” Then bethinking himself that it must belong to some visitor in the drawing-room with his wife, he moderated his tone. “Make haste; take it away!” he said. “I don’t want babies here! There’s a time and a place for everything!—What are you about?”
For, instead of obeying her master and taking it away, the maid was carefully looking in the blanket for the baby. Having found it and turned