sly. "Oh my, Ma'am, do
you hear that? Oh please may I have a baby that shuts its eyes, and
that I can love?"

"Oh yes, I think we can manage that very well, Kit. You may look for
your new baby in a few days." And then Anna kissed the sharp little
face, and Mrs. Martin smiled at her quite affably.

"She'll talk of nothing else from morning to night. Thank you kindly,
sir--and you too, young lady."

"Who is she?" whispered Kit, so loudly that both Malcolm and Anna
overheard her. "Who is that nice lady, dad, in the white dress? Is she
the gentleman's wife?"

Malcolm laughed in amused fashion as he assisted Anna up the crazy
steps, but for once the girl did not respond. "It was so hot in that
room," she said rather impatiently, putting up her hands to her burning
cheeks. "Oh, Malcolm, what a dreadful woman and what a miserable place!"

"Oh I don't know," he returned. "Mrs. Martin's bark's worse than her
bite, and one can see she is fond of the child. We may as well buy that
doll, Anna, and then we will have some luncheon. There is a place I
know where they do cutlets remarkably well, and their ices are
capital," and then they set out in search of a toy-shop.

The shop where Malcolm proposed they should eat their luncheon had an
upper window overhanging Piccadilly. Here they secured a small table to
themselves.

At first Anna seemed a little thoughtful and abstracted. Kit's innocent
suggestion had startled her out of her maidenly unconsciousness. It was
such a strange thing to say. It was so terrible that people could think
such things, and that Malcolm should only laugh as though he were
amused. Somehow that laugh seemed to hurt her more than anything.

Malcolm was quite aware of the girl's discomposure; his gentlemanly
instincts were never at fault. He knew that many of his mother's
friends often hinted that his position with regard to her adopted
daughter must be somewhat difficult. At such times he was given to
affirm that no tie of blood could be stronger. "She is my sister in
everything but name," he would say.

His influence over her was so great that he charmed her out of her
quiet mood, and they were soon laughing and chatting in their old way.

They got into a hansom presently and drove to Cheyne Walk. As they
passed Cheyne Row, and looked up at the grim old figure of the Sage of
Chelsea, looking so gray and weather-beaten, Malcolm proposed that they
should make a pilgrimage to No. 5, but Anna refused.