She knew about babies; implanted in her had always been a perfect madness to possess one.
She and the red-faced Major talked babies.

Letty, knowing nothing about babies and not deeply interested, lay back in her seat, watching Ailsa in the dim light of the ceiling lamps.

She seemed never to have enough of Ailsa.

It had been so from the first.
In Baltimore dawn was breaking when Ailsa awoke at the summons of the major; and he remained devoted to the two nurses of Sainte Ursula, attending to their baggage and transfer across the city, finding seats in the waiting-room already invaded by the officers of several regiments in transit, and finally saw them safely aboard the cars again.
"Good-bye, little ladies," he said cheerily.

"If I'm hit, God send one of you to wash my face for me.