Ida did not seem conscious of her baby with the woodeny consciousness of an apple-tree of a blossom.

When she gazed at it, it was with the same set smile with which she had always viewed all creation.

That smile which came from without, not within, but now it was fairly tragic.
"Her name is Evelyn.

Don't you think it is a pretty name ?" asked Ida.
"Yes'm," replied Maria.

She edged towards the door.