to put on a bright-coloured blue frock that evening,
and at her neck she hung a Breton cross of old paste, which had belonged
to her mother. When she had finished dressing she went into the nursery
and stood by the baby's cot. The old nurse who was sitting there beside
him, got up at once and said:

"He's sleeping beautiful--the lamb. I'll go down and get a cup o' tea,
and come up, ma'am, when the gong goes." In the way peculiar to those
who have never to initiate, but only to support positions in which they
are placed by others, she had adopted for herself the theory that Noel
was a real war-widow. She knew the truth perfectly; for she had watched
that hurried little romance at Kestrel, but by dint of charity and
blurred meditations it was easy for her to imagine the marriage ceremony
which would and should have taken place; and she was zealous that other
people should imagine it too. It was so much more regular and natural
like that, and "her" baby invested with his proper dignity. She went
downstairs to get a "cup o' tea," thinking: 'A picture they make--that
they do, bless his little heart; and his pretty little mother--no more
than a child, all said and done.'

Noel had been standing there some minutes in the failing light, absorbed
in the face of the sleeping baby, when, raising her eyes, she saw in a
mirror the refection of her father's dark figure by the door. She could
hear him breathing as if the ascent of the stairs had tired him; and
moving to the head of the cot, she rested her hand on it, and turned her
face towards him. He came up and stood beside her, looking silently down
at the baby. She saw him make the sign of the Cross above it, and the
movement of his lips in prayer. Love for her father, and rebellion
against this intercession for her perfect baby fought so hard in the
girl's heart that she felt suffocated, and glad of the dark, so that he
could not see her eyes. Then he took her hand and put it to his lips,
but still without a word; and for the life of her she could not speak
either. In silence, he kissed her forehead; and there mounted in Noel a
sudden passion of longing to show him her pride and love for her baby.
She put her finger down and touched one of his hands. The tiny sleeping
fingers uncurled and, like some little sea anemone, clutched round it.
She heard her father draw his breath in; saw him turn away quickly,
silently, and go out. And she stayed, hardly breathing, with the hand of