"How quiet he is! How he stares!" reiterated the barrister, who did not
understand much about babies, except for a shadowy idea that they lived
in a state of crying for the first six months.
"He is the best child in the world; every one says so," she returned.
"He is not the least--Hey-day! what do you mean by contradicting mamma
like that? Behave yourself, sir."
For the infant, as if to deny his goodness, set up a sudden cry. Mr. Carr
laughed. He put down his finger again, and the little fingers clasped
round it, and the cry ceased.
"He does not like to lose his friend, you see, Lady Hartledon."
"I wish you would be my friend as well as his," she rejoined; and the low
meaning tones struck on Mr. Carr's ear.
"I trust I am your friend," he answered.
She was still for a few moments; her pale beautiful face inclining
towards the child's; her large dark eyes bent upon him. She turned them
on Mr. Carr.
"This has been a sad day."
"Yes, for you. It is grievous to lose a brother."
"And to lose him without the opportunity of a last look, a last farewell.
Robert was my best and favourite brother. But the day has been marked as
unhappy for other causes than that."
Was it an uncomfortable prevision of what was coming that caused Mr. Carr
not to answer her? He talked to the unconscious baby, and played with its
cheeks.
"What secret is this that you and my husband have between you, Mr.
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