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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Little mamma-baby sweetheart," he said. "I'll build you a nest right next to hers. Good night, little white flower. I'll be waiting, and remember, counting every second of every minute and every minute of every hour." For a long time she remained where he had left her, forward on the pink divan, her head with a listening look to it, as if waiting an answer for the prayers that she sent up.
"Mustn't what?" "Mustn't," was all she could repeat and not weep her words. "Won't I do?" "It's mamma." "What?" "Her." "Her what, my little white buttonhole carnation?" "You see I She's all alone." "You adorable, she's got a brand-new husky husband." "No you don't understand." Then, on a thunderclap of inspiration, hitting his knee: "I have it. Mamma-baby! That's it.
But tell me first of all, mamma-baby, that you do care. Tell me that first, dearest, and then we can talk." The kerchief was all screwed up now, so tightly that it could stiffly unwind of itself. "She's not well, Leo. That terrible neuralgia that's why she needs me so." "Nonsense! She hasn't had a spell for weeks. That's Louis' great brag, that he's curing her.
My girlie is a cry-baby, mamma-baby!" And made to slide along the divan toward her, but up flew her two small hands, like fans. "No," she said, with the little bang back in her voice which steadied him again. "I mustn't! You see, we're so close. Sometimes it's more as if I were the mother and she my little girl." "Alma, that's beautiful, but it's silly, too.
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