There was some use in a laughing baby, but he hated anything, child, woman, or animal, that cried.
On this particular day the baby happened to be asleep when he entered, so, without stopping, he went into Gabriella's bedroom, where the perfume of roses mingled with the scent of the burning logs on the andirons.
"That's a good fire," he observed, stopping on the hearth-rug.

"I don't wonder you hate to go out." "Yes, the room was a little chilly, so I lit the fire for the baby's bath.

I don't usually have one," replied Gabriella, explaining her apparent extravagance.
"Has she been well ?" "She is always well.

I haven't had a day's anxiety about her since she was born." "But she isn't very old yet." Already little Frances was supplying conversational material to her parents.
"I wish you would sit down, George," said Gabriella, with a change of tone.

"I want to read you a part of a letter from mother." "Can't you tell me instead ?" "If you'd rather.