"
It was too late to go. She could not tell why, but it
was too late. She turned away her head when Gino lifted his
son to his lips. This was something too remote from the
prettiness of the nursery. The man was majestic; he was a
part of Nature; in no ordinary love scene could he ever be
so great. For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to
the children; and--by some sad, strange irony--it does not
bind us children to our parents. For if it did, if we could
answer their love not with gratitude but with equal love,
life would lose much of its pathos and much of its squalor,
and we might be wonderfully happy. Gino passionately
embracing, Miss Abbott reverently averting her eyes--both of
them had parents whom they did not love so very much.
"May I help you to wash him?" she asked humbly.
He gave her his son without speaking, and they knelt
side by side, tucking up their sleeves. The child had
stopped crying, and his arms and legs were agitated by some
overpowering joy. Miss Abbott had a woman's pleasure in
cleaning anything--more especially when the thing was human.
She understood little babies from long experience in a
district, and Gino soon ceased to give her directions, and
only gave her thanks.
"It is very kind of you," he murmured, "especially in
your beautiful dress. He is nearly clean already. Why, I
take the whole morning! There is so much more of a baby
than one expects. And Perfetta washes him just as she
washes clothes.
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