there was no litter of clothing or small feminine belongings. By the
window, which gave a glimpse of the sea, and of Monaco rock with the old
part of the Palace, a plump young girl sat, with a baby a year or two
old in her arms, and a nurse's cap on her smooth head.

"You invited me to come down after I'd had my déjeûner, so I came," said
the child.

"Right you are, Miss Rosemary," returned the plump girl. "You're such a
quaint little body, you're a regular treat. I declare I ain't 'alf sure
I wouldn't rather talk to you, than read the Princess Novelettes.
Besides, I do get that tired of 'earin' nothin' but French, I'm most
sorry I undertook the job; and the Biby don't pick up English much yet."

"Don't you think he's a bright baby?" asked the child, sitting down on a
footstool, which was a favourite seat of hers.

"For a French biby, 'e 's as bright as you could expect," replied her
hostess, judicially.

"Are they different?"

"Well, they ain't Hinglish."

"_I'm_ half American," said the little girl.

"You don't talk through your nose. Far as I can see, you've got as good
a haccent as me."

"I suppose yours _is_ good?" asked Rosemary, as if she longed to have a