This was the pleasantest phase of Lady Hartledon's married life. Her
health did not allow of her entering into gaiety; and she and her husband
passed their time happily together. All her worst qualities seemed to
have left her, or to be dormant; she was yielding and gentle; her beauty
had never been so great as now that it was subdued; her languor was an
attraction, her care to please being genuine; and they were sufficiently
happy. They were in their town-house now, not having gone back to
Hartledon. A large, handsome house, very different from the hired one
they had first occupied.
In January the baby was born; and Maude's eyes glistened with tears
of delight because it was a boy: a little heir to the broad lands of
Hartledon. She was very well, and it seemed that she could never tire
of fondling her child.
But in the first few days succeeding that of the birth a strange fancy
took possession of her: she observed, or thought she observed, that her
husband did not seem to care for the child. He did not caress it; she
once heard him sighing over it; and he never announced it in the
newspapers. Other infants, heirs especially, could be made known to the
world, but not hers. The omission might never have come to her knowledge,
since at first she was not allowed to see newspapers, but for a letter
from the countess-dowager. The lady wrote in a high state of wrath from
Germany; she had looked every day for ten days in the _Times_, and saw no
chronicle of the happy event; and she demanded the reason.
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