Mistaking Zoie's feeling for one of embarrassment at being over-praised, Alfred bore the infant to her bedside. “See, dear,” he persisted, “see for yourself, look at his forehead.” “I'd rather look at you,” pouted Zoie, peeping from beneath the coverlet, “if you would only put that thing down for a minute.” “Thing?” exclaimed Alfred, as though doubting his own ears. But before he could remonstrate further, Zoie's arms were about his neck and she was pleading jealously for his attention. “Please, Alfred,” she begged, “I have scarcely had a look at you, yet.” Alfred shook his head and turned to baby with an indulgent smile. It was pleasant to have two such delightful creatures bidding for his entire attention. “Dear me,” he said to baby. “Dear me, tink of mudder wanting to look at a big u'gy t'ing like fadder, when she could look at a 'itty witty t'ing like dis,” and he rose and crossed to the crib where he deposited the small creature with yet more gurgling and endearing. Zoie's dreams of rapture at Alfred's home coming had not included such divided attention as he was now showing her and she was growing more and more desperate at the turn affairs had taken. She resolved to put a stop to his nonsense and to make him realise that she and no one else was the lode star of his existence. She beckoned to Aggie to get out of the room and to leave her a clear field and as soon as her friend had gone quietly into the next room, she called impatiently to Alfred who was still cooing rapturously over the young stranger. Finding Alfred deaf to her first entreaty, Zoie shut her lips hard, rearranged her pretty head-dress, drew one fascinating little curl down over her shoulder, reknotted the pink ribbon of her negligee, and then issued a final and imperious order for her husband to attend her. “Yes, yes, dear,” answered Alfred, with a shade of impatience. “I'm coming, I'm coming.” And bidding a reluctant farewell to the small person in the crib, he crossed to her side. Zoie caught Alfred's hand and drew him down to her; he smiled complacently. “Well,” he said in the patronising tone that Zoie always resented. “How is hubby's little girl?” “It's about time,” pouted Zoie, “that you made a little fuss over me for a change.” “My own!” murmured Alfred. He stooped to kiss the eager lips, but just as his young wife prepared to lend herself to his long delayed embrace, his mind was distracted by an uneasy thought. “Do you think that Baby is----” He was not permitted to finish the sentence. Zoie drew him back to her with a sharp exclamation. “Think of ME for a while,” she commanded. “My darling,” expostulated Alfred with a shade of surprise at her vehemence. “How could I think of anyone else?” Again he stooped to embrace her and again his mind was directed otherwise. “I wonder if Baby is warm enough,” he said and attempted to rise. “Wonder about ME for a while,” snapped Zoie, clinging to him determinedly.