"Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query. "Who's there?" cried Rachel. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. Then all the embarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her. “I wouldn’t. She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris. He roused curiosities.
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