The Princess stroked his cheek. "What a perfectly exquisite skin!" she said, and bending over him, kissed him delicately. "How good it smells--how--how different!" she murmured. "I thought they--I thought they didn't." Miss Honey had taken the lady's other hand, and was examining the square ruby with a diamond on either side. "My mother says that's the principal reason to have a baby," she remarked, absorbed in the glittering thing. "You sprinkle 'em all over with violet powder--just like doughnuts with sugar--and kiss 'em. Some people think they get germs that way, but my mother says if she couldn't kiss 'em she wouldn't have 'em!" The Princess bent over the baby again. "It's going to sleep here!" she said, half fearfully, with an inquiring glance at the two. "Oughtn't one to rock it?" Miss Honey shook her head severely. "Not General," she answered, "he won't stand it. My mother tried again and again--could I take that blue ring a minute? I'd be awful careful--but he wouldn't. He sits up and he lies down, but he won't rock." "I might sing to him," suggested the Princess, brushing a damp lock from the General's warm forehead and slipping her ringless finger into his curved fist carefully. "Would he like it?" "No, he wouldn't," said Miss Honey bluntly, twisting the ring around her finger. "He only likes two people to sing--Delia and my mother. Was that ruby ring a 'ngagement ring?" Caroline interfered diplomatically. "General would be very much obliged," she explained politely, "except that my Aunt Deedee is a very good singer indeed, and Uncle Joe says General's taste is ruined for just common singing." The Princess stared at her blankly. "Oh, indeed!" she remarked. Then she smiled again in that whimsical expressive way. "You don't think I could sing well enough for him--as well as your mother?" [Illustration: With a great sweep of her arm, she brushed aside a portiere and disappeared.] Miss Honey laughed carelessly. "My mother is a singer," she said, "a real one. She used to sing in concerts--real ones. In theatres. Real theatres, I mean," as the lady appeared to be still amused. "If you know where the Waldorf Hotel is," Caroline interrupted, "she has sung in that, and it was five dollars to get in. It was to send the poor children to a Fresh Air Fund. It--it's not the same as you would sing--or me," she added politely. The lady arose suddenly and deposited the General, like a doll, with one swift motion in the basket chair. Striding across the room she turned, flushed and tall, and confronted the wondering children. "I will sing for you," she said haughtily, "and you can judge better!" With a great sweep of her half bare arm, she brushed aside a portiere and disappeared. A crashing chord rolled out from a piano behind the curtains and ceased abruptly. "What does your mother sing?" she demanded, not raising her voice, it seemed, and yet they heard her as plainly as when they had leaned against her knee.