Then he stopped, caught the baby up in both arms, burst out laughing.
"You little minx!" he said--or, rather, gasped--a tenderness quite maternal in his eyes.

"But I got you! Nora, the table." Nora righted the table, spread and smoothed the cloths, extended her scrawny eager arms for the baby.

Stevens with a jerk of the head motioned her aside, laid the baby on the table.

He felt for the pulse at its wrist, bent to listen at the heart.

Quite useless.