Celia's House by D. E. Stevenson Page B

Humphrey was an anxious husband. He was all the more apprehensive because it was so unlike Alice to “imagine things.”
    â€œIt’s all right, dearest,” he soothed as she got into bed. “Lie down and go to sleep. It’s very late, you know.”
    â€œWho was she, I wonder,” Alice said as she lay down obediently.
    â€œYou mustn’t alarm yourself, Alice.”
    â€œI’m not alarmed. There was nothing alarming about her. She was—she was friendly , you know. It wasn’t until she had gone that I began to feel a little frightened and to wonder who she was…so I called you.”
    â€œYes, of course, but I’m sure you were dreaming—”
    â€œNo, Humphrey, she was quite real,” Alice replied as she laid her head on the pillow. “She came and stood by my bed and smiled at me…an old lady with very bright eyes…and a beautiful diamond brooch.”
    â€œYou were dreaming,” Humphrey said for the third time but with much less conviction.
    â€œGray silk,” continued Alice in a sleepy voice. “Gray silk…it rustled when she moved…and lovely old Mechlin lace…and she was so tiny, no bigger than Edith—”
    â€œShe’s gone, darling.”
    â€œâ€”and a scent of roses,” Alice murmured as she closed her eyes. “A scent…of red…roses…”
    Was it imagination or did a faint scent of red roses linger in the air? Humphrey could not be sure.
    Celia Dunne was born very early the next morning with the least possible fuss. She was small and neatly made and from the very beginning of her life she was nice to look at, not red or wrinkled as the other babies had been. Her eyes were blue at first, but very soon they began to turn brown, and Humphrey, as he looked at her lying contentedly in her beribboned bassinet, could have sworn that there was recognition in them and something approaching a twinkle. He did not like it at all, for he hated anything queer (and anything queer in his own family was profoundly to be deprecated).
    Humphrey was so upset about it that he was very short indeed with Alice’s nurse when she remarked that Celia “wasn’t like a baby somehow.” (They were having lunch together in the morning room and Celia was barely three weeks old.)
    â€œWhat do you mean?” demanded Humphrey. “She looks to me just like any other baby.”
    â€œOh, I didn’t mean anything like that ,” Nurse Walker declared hastily and somewhat enigmatically. “I just mean she has such a strong personality. I just mean she’s so very noticing for her age. You should have seen the way she looked about her when I carried her downstairs this morning—so pleased she seemed—as if the whole place belonged to her, dear wee lamb!”
    â€œNonsense!” Humphrey exclaimed angrily.
    Nurse Walker was surprised. The commander was usually very pleasant and genial. She wondered what could have provoked him and made him so cross.
    â€œI hope you haven’t said anything like that to Mrs. Dunne,” Humphrey continued after a short silence. “She’s apt to be—er—rather fanciful and we don’t want to worry her.”
    Nurse Walker was even more surprised at this, for it had seemed to her a very innocent remark. Of course she had told Mrs. Dunne; mothers liked to hear things like that about their babies and Mrs. Dunne was no exception to the rule. Mrs. Dunne had not been worried; in fact, she had been very much amused and had laughed so heartily that she almost cried. It was this success that had encouraged Nurse Walker to repeat her little joke to the commander.
    â€œNo, of course we mustn’t worry her,” Nurse Walker agreed in her most professional manner.

Chapter Thirteen
Debbie
    Humphrey found that Alice had forgotten all about her “dream.” She was calm and happy, pleased with Celia, and even more pleased with