Warble thought a minute. A baby would be nice--and perhaps she could reform
that more easily than she could older people.
"All right," she said, "and I'll have beautiful gaternity mowns of
shuffy fliffon--I mean, fliffy shuffon, no--shiffy fluffon--oh,
pleathe--pleathe--"
Warble's tongue always misbehaved when she was excited or embarrassed, but
Petticoat didn't notice her.
"I can send Roscoe Rococo after that Courtyard," he mused, "he'll know. The
last man I sent to Spain for a casemented facade, brought home a temple!
But Roscie knows, and he'll do it proper. I don't want to run over just
now--"
* * * * *
The baby was coming.
Warble reveled in infant layettes and her own layouts for lying in. She
sank deeper and deeper in a sea of baby-clothes, down pillows and orris
powder. Nursery quarters were added to the house, influenced by Lucca Delia
Robbia and Fra Angelico.
Also a few influential Madonnas.
* * * * *
The Butterflies came in with advice. Marigold Leathersham was dubious about
the wisdom of the plan, but brought a pillow of antique rose point, filled
with ostrich plumes.
Mrs. Holm Boddy rushed over with a copy of _Poems Every Expectant Mother
Ought to Know_, and Lotta Munn sent a card of diamond safety pins.
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