Part 17 (1/2)

Aggie did not answer.

Zoie leaned forward toward the mirror to smooth out her eyebrows with the tips of her perfumed fingers. ”Good gracious,” she cried in horror as she caught sight of her reflection. ”You're not going to put my hair in a pigtail!”

”That's the way invalids always have their hair,” was Aggie's laconic reply, and she continued to plait the obstinate curls.

”I won't have it like that!” declared Zoie, and she shook herself free from Aggie's unwelcome attentions and proceeded to unplait the hateful pigtail. ”Alfred would leave me.”

Aggie shrugged her shoulders.

”If you're going to make a perfect fright of me,” pouted Zoie, ”I just won't see him.”

”He isn't coming to see YOU,” reminded Aggie. ”He's coming to see the baby.”

”If Jimmy doesn't come soon, I'll not HAVE any baby,” answered Zoie.

”Get into bed,” said Aggie, and she proceeded to turn down the soft lace coverlets.

”Where did I put my cap?” asked Zoie. Her eyes caught the small knot of lace and ribbons for which she was looking, and she pinned it on top of her saucy little curls.

”In you go,” said Aggie, motioning to the bed.

”Wait,” said Zoie impressively, ”wait till I get my rose lights on the pillow.” She pulled the slender gold chain of her night lamp; instantly the large white pillows were bathed in a warm pink glow--she studied the effect very carefully, then added a lingerie pillow to the two more formal ones, kicked off her slippers and hopped into bed. One more glance at the pillows, then she arranged the ribbons of her negligee to fall ”carelessly” outside the coverlet, threw one arm gracefully above her head, half-closed her eyes, and sank languidly back against her pillows.

”How's that?” she breathed faintly.

Controlling her impulse to smile, Aggie crossed to the dressing-table with a business-like air and applied to Zoie's pink cheeks a third coating of powder.

Zoie sat bolt upright and began to sneeze. ”Aggie,” she said, ”I just hate you when you act like that.” But suddenly she was seized with a new idea.

”I wonder,” she mused as she looked across the room at the soft, pink sofa bathed in firelight, ”I wonder if I shouldn't look better on that couch under those roses.”

Aggie was very emphatic in her opinion to the contrary. ”Certainly not!”

she said.

”Then,” decided Zoie with a mischievous smile, ”I'll get Alfred to carry me to the couch. That way I can get my arms around his neck. And once you get your arms around a man's neck, you can MANAGE him.”

Aggie looked down at the small person with distinct disapproval. ”Now, don't you make too much fuss over Alfred,” she continued. ”YOU'RE the one who's to do the forgiving. Don't forget that! What's more,” she reminded Zoie, ”you're very, very weak.” But before she had time to instruct Zoie further there was a sharp, quick ring at the outer door.

The two women glanced at each other inquiringly. The next instant a man's step was heard in the hallway.

”How is she, Mary?” demanded someone in a voice tense with anxiety.

”It's Alfred!” exclaimed Zoie.

”And we haven't any baby!” gasped Aggie.

”What shall I do?” cried Zoie.

”Lie down,” commanded Aggie, and Zoie had barely time to fall back limply on the pillows when the excited young husband burst into the room.