now and then when the baby began to moan, he bent his head and a soft murmur reached her.
It was only occasionally that he played the violin at home and because of this, she had a queer feeling that what he played was for her. Sometimes for a breathless hour or so, she could hear wild, quivering notes that ate her heart out.
He must have seen the worship in her eyes, but she did not mind. She wanted him to know, though she concealed from every one else how she adorned him. She never imagined herself speaking to him, holding a casual, conventional conversation before the house about the babies, the weather or the last concert. But adventures crowded into her mind; his baby toddling out into the street, an automobile swiftly upon it, and June rushing out to save it just in time, but at the cost of her own life. Of course this didn’t happen while Mr. Armand was away. It happened when he could only rush forward, too late to save his child—that June had already done—but in time to hold her in his arms while she died.
There was also the adventure of his wife disappearing with another man and the baby falling ill and June being called in to nurse it back to health and thereby gaining Mr. Armand’s love.
When she realized her thoughts, the absurdity of them rushed over her so that she blushed with
[35]
