quietly
and leaned over the banister behind Kitty's back and watched her, while
he listened shamelessly to the conversation. The pretty lady looked
prettier than ever.

"My daddy gave my mummy her watch on her birthday," said the little boy.
"Who gave you your watch?"

"It wasn't your daddy, dear."

"Of course it wasn't my daddy."

"Of course not."

"What is your name?"

"My name is Mrs. Tailleur."

"Mrs. Ty-loor. My name is Stanley. That gentleman's name is Mr. Lucy. I
like him."

Lucy came down and seated himself beside her. She made him a sign with
her mouth, as much as to say she was under a charm and he wasn't to
break it.

"Do you like him, Mrs. Tyloor?"

"Well--what do you think?"

"I think you like him very much."

Mrs. Tailleur laughed softly.

"What makes you laugh?"

"You. You're so funny."

"_You're_ funny. Your eyelashes curl up when you laugh, and your eyes
curl, too. And your mouth!" he crowed with the joy of it. "Such a funny
mouth."

The mouth hid itself in the child's soft neck among his hair. The woman
in the bureau saw that, and her face became curiously contracted.

"I remember the day you came. My daddy said you was very pretty."

"And what did your mummy say?"

Kitty had caught sight of the fierce face in the window, and a little
daring devil had entered into her.

"Mummy said she couldn't tell if she wasn't allowed to look."

"And why," said Lucy, "wasn't she allowed to look?"

"Daddy said she wasn't to."

"Of course he did," said Lucy. "It's very rude to look at people."

"Daddy looked. I saw him."

The door of the bureau opened and the manager's wife came out. She had a
slight flush on her face and her mouth was tighter than ever.

Mrs. Tailleur saw her coming and slipped the child from her lap. The
manager's wife put out her hand to take him, but he turned from her and
clung to the pretty lady.

The woman seized him by the arm and tore him from her, and dragged him
toward the apartments of the management. The child screamed as he went.

"Women like that," said Lucy, "shouldn't be allowed to have children."

Mrs. Tailleur turned to him though she had not heard him.

"What have I done? What harm could I do the little thing?"

"What have you done?" It was hard for him to follow the workings of her
mind. "You don't mean to say you minded that?"

"Yes, I minded. I minded awfully."

"That dreadful woman?"

"Do you think she really was dreadful?"

"Qui