Besides,
I should be pleased for you to see my wife."
He crossed the hall, tapped at a door and cried: "Emma, my love, will
you give us the pleasure of your company?"
In response to this a lady entered, whom Mahony thought one of the most
beautiful women he had ever seen. She carried a yearling infant in her
arms, and with one hand pressed its pale flaxen poll against the rich,
ripe corn of her own hair, as if to dare comparison. Her cheeks were of
a delicate rose pink.
"My love," said Turnham--and one felt that the word was no mere flower
of speech. "My love, here is someone who wishes to marry our Polly."
"To marry our Polly?" echoed the lady, and smiled a faint, amused smile
--it was as though she said: to marry this infant that I bear on my arm.
"But Polly is only a little girl!"
"My very words, dearest. And too young to know her own mind."
"But you will decide for her, John."
John hung over his beautiful wife, wheeled up an easy chair, arranged
her in it, placed a footstool. "Pray, pray, do not overfatigue yourself,
Emma! That child is too heavy for you," he objected, as the babe made
strenuous efforts to kick itself to its feet. "You know I do not approve
of you carrying it yourself."
"Nurse is drinking tea."
"But why do I keep a houseful of domestics if one of the others cannot
occasionally take her place?"
He made an impetuous step towards the bell. Before he could reach it
there came a thumping at the door, and a fluty voice cried: "Lemme in,
puppa, lemme in!"
Turnham threw the door open, and admitted a sturdy two-year-old, whom he
led forward by the hand.
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