"There's something I can't understand, mother." She looked down at
herself, then about the room. Her manner was becoming nervous.

"What can't you understand?"

Edith shut her hands over her eyes and remained very still. When she
removed them, and her mother looked into her face the childlike
sweetness and content were all gone, and a conscious woman was
before her. The transformation was as sudden as it was marvelous.

Both remained silent for the space of nearly a minute. Mrs.
Dinneford knew not what to say, and waited for some sign from her
daughter.

"Where is my baby, mother?" Edith said this in a low, tremulous
whisper, leaning forward as she spoke, repressed and eager.

"Have you forgotten?" asked Mrs. Dinneford, with regained composure.

"Forgotten what?"

"You were very ill after your baby was born; no one thought you
could live; you were ill for a long time. And the baby--"

"What of the baby, mother?" asked Edith, beginning to tremble
violently. Her mother, perceiving her agitation, held back the word
that was on her lips.

"What of the baby, mother?" Edith repeated the question.