It seemed a week, but it was in reality only two hours later when
Lillian Gale returned from the apartment across the hall, heavy eyed
and dishevelled, her gown splashed with water, her rouge rubbed off in
spots, her whole appearance most disreputable.

"The baby?" we all asked at once.

"Out of any immediate danger, the doctor says. The nurse came an hour
ago, but the child had two more of those awful things, and I was able
to help her. The mother is no good at all, one of those emotional
women whose idea of taking care of a baby is to shriek over it."

Her voice held no contempt, only a great weariness. I felt a sudden
rush of sympathetic liking for this woman, whom I had looked upon as
an enemy.

"What can I get you, Mrs. Underwood?" I asked. "You look so worn out."

"If Katie has not thrown out that coffee," she returned practically,
"let us warm it up."

I felt a foolish little thrill of housewifely pride. A few minutes
before her appearance I had gone into the kitchen and made fresh
coffee, anticipating her return. Katie, of course, I had sent to bed
after she had cleared the table and washed the silver. I had told her
to pile the dishes for the morning.

"I have fresh coffee all ready," I said. "I thought perhaps you might
like a cup. Sit still, and I'll bring it in."