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She thought that the visitor's astonishment was for the wonderful baby, all unconscious of herself. "Yes'm, just but a fo'tnight, and a little over. Oh 'e's a grite little tyke, 'e is. Ain't 'e, now?" "Has Doctor Blair been to see Minnie?" asked Madame softly. "Yes'm. Old Angus 'e was 'ere on Monday, and 'e sent 'im. 'E says it's 'er lungs." She looked at her visitors with child-like simplicity.
"Why, it's a baby," she whispered in awe. The mother's faded face lit up with pride. She held the little scrap of humanity towards the visitor. "'E's a grite little rascal, 'e is," she exclaimed fondly. "As smart as a weasel, an' 'im only a fo'tnight old last Sunday."
"Not so vehy much longer than you have been taking during the past fo'tnight, my deah seh. But neveh mind; all's fair in love or war, and we appeah to be having a little of both now up heah in Qua'tz Creek, hah?" Winton flushed angrily. It was no light thing to be mocked before his men, to say nothing of Miss Carteret standing within arm's reach on the railed platform of the Rosemary.
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