born at the Moat House; and
Elisabeth was one of the women who are predestined to the worship of
babies. Very tightly did the tiny fingers twine themselves round her
somewhat empty heart; for Elisabeth was meant to love much, and at
present her supply of the article was greatly in excess of the demand
made upon it. So she poured the surplus--which no one else seemed to
need--upon the innocent head of Felicia's baby; and she found that the
baby never misjudged her nor disappointed her, as older people seemed so
apt to do. One of her most devout fellow-worshippers was Mrs. Herbert,
who derived comfort from the fact that little Willie was not ashamed of
her as little Willie's mother was; so--like many a disappointed woman
before them--both Mrs. Herbert and Elisabeth discovered the healing
power which lies in the touch of a baby's hand. Felicia loved the child,
too, in her way; but she was of the type of woman to whom the husband is
always dearer than the children. But Alan's cup was filled to
overflowing, and he loved his son as he loved his own soul.

One of Christopher's expedients for hiding the meditations of his heart
from Elisabeth's curious eyes was the discussion with her of what people
call "general subjects"; and this tried her temper to the utmost. She
regarded it as a sign of superficiality to talk of superficial things;
and she hardly ever went in to dinner with a man without arriving at
the discussion of abstract love and the second _entree_ simultaneously.
It had never yet dawned upon her that as a rule it is because one has
not experienced a feeling that one is able to describe it; she reasoned
in the contrary direction, and came to the conclusion that those persons
have no hearts at all whose sleeves are unadorned with the same.
Therefore it was intolerable to her when Christopher--who had played
with her as a child, and had once very nearly made her grow up into a
woman--talked to her about the contents of the newspapers.

"I never look at the papers," she answered crossly one day, in reply to
some unexceptionable and uninteresting comment of his upon such history
as was just then in the raw material; "I hate them."

"Why do you hate them?" Christopher was surprised at her vehemence.

"Because there is cholera in the South of France, and I never look at
the papers when there is cholera about, it frightens me so." Elisabeth
had all the pity of a thoroughly healthy person for the suffering that
could not