It was well after 7 o'clock when the ringing of the door bell told me
that the Lesters had come. Dicky welcomed them and introduced me
to them. Mrs. Lester was a pretty creature, birdlike, in her small
daintiness, and a certain chirpy brightness. I judged that her
mentality equalled the calibre of a sparrow, but I admitted also that
the fact did not detract from her attractiveness. She was the sort of
woman to be protected, to be cherished.

"I'm afraid I shall be very dull tonight. I am so worried about
leaving the baby. She's only six months old, you know, and, I have had
my mother with me ever since she was born until two weeks ago, so I
have never left her with a maid before. This girl we have appears very
competent, says she is used to babies, but I just can't help being as
nervous as a cat."

"Are you still worrying about that baby?" Mrs. Underwood's loud voice
sounded behind us. "Now, look here, Daisy, have a little common sense.
You have had that maid over a year; she has been with your mother and
you since the baby was born; there's a telephone at her elbow, and you
are only five blocks away from home. Wasn't the child well when you
left?"

"Sleeping just like a kitten," the proud mother answered. "You just
ought to have seen her, one little hand all cuddled up against her
face. I just couldn't bear to leave her."

Over Lillian Gale's face swept a swift spasm of pain. So quickly was
it gone that I would not have noticed it, had not my eyes happened to
rest on her face when Mrs. Lester spoke of her baby. Was there a child
in that hectic past of hers? I decided there must be.