ed pink face which was at once ugly and divinely beautiful.

"A fine boy," said the man. The baby made a grimace at him which was
hideous but lovely.

"I do believe he thinks he knows you," said Eudora, foolishly.

The baby made a little nestling motion, and its creasy eyelids dropped.

"Looks to me as if he was going to sleep again," said Lawton, in a
whisper. Eudora jogged the cradle gently with her foot, and both were
still. Then Eudora dropped the lace veil over the cradle again and moved
softly away.

Lawton followed her. "I haven't my answer yet, Eudora," he whispered,
leaning over her shoulder as she moved.

"Come into the other room," she murmured, "or we shall wake the baby."
Her voice was softly excited.

Eudora led the way into the parlor, upon whose walls hung some really
good portraits and whose furnishings still merited the adjective
magnificent. There had been opulence in the Yates family; and in this
room, which had been conserved, there was still undimmed and unfaded
evidence of it. Eudora drew aside a brocade curtain and sat down on an
embroidered satin sofa. Lawton sat beside her.

"This room looks every whit as grand as it used to look to me when I was
a boy," he said.

"It has hardly been opened, except to have it cleaned, since you went
away," replied Eudora, "and no wear has come upon it."

"And everything was rather splendid to begin with, and has lasted. And
so were you, Eudora, and you have lasted. Well, what about my answer,
dear girl?"

"You have to hear something first."

Lawton laughed. "A confession?"

Eudora held her head proudly. "No, not exactly," said she. "I am not
sure that I have ever had anything to confess."

"You never were sure, you proud creature."

"I am not now. I never intended to deceive you, but you were deceived. I
did intend to deceive others, others who had no right to know. I do not
feel that I owe them any explanation. I do owe you one, although I do
not feel that I have done anything wrong. Still, I cannot allow you to
remain deceived."

"Well, what is it, dear?"

Eudora looked at him. "You remember that afternoon when you met me with
the baby-carriage?"

"Well, I should think so. My memory has not failed me in three days."

"You thought I had a baby in that carriage."

"Of course I did."

"There wasn't a baby in the carriage."

"Well, what on earth was it, then? A cat?"

Eudora, if possible, looked prouder. "It was a package of soiled l