Elsie soothed her with caresses and words of endearment, and presently she
calmed down, made her friend take a seat, and sinking back into her own,
wiped away the tears still welling up in her eyes, and with a little
hysterical laugh said, "Please don't look so concerned, or think I'm
unhappy with my dear old Phil, or going to die, or any such nonsense: it's
just my nerves; hateful, torturing things! I wish I'd never found out I
had any."
"You poor dear, I'm so sorry for your lost health," said Elsie, exchanging
her chair for a low ottoman at Lucy's feet, and taking the small thin
hands in hers, stroking and patting them caressingly; "I know nerves won't
be reasoned with, and that tears are often a great relief."
"And I've everything to make me happy," sobbed Lucy--"the best husband in
the world, and the darlingest of babies, to say nothing of mamma and papa,
and the rest, and really almost everything one could desire."
"Oh, the baby, yes!" cried Elsie, turning towards it with eager interest;
"the sweet, pretty darling. May I take him a moment, Lucy?"
"Certainly, if he's not too heavy--bring him here, mammy. I remember your
father would not allow you to lift or carry little Horace."
"Ah, but that was years ago! Ah, how lovely he is!" as the babe accepted
her mute invitation to come to her.
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