. She was proof against a single
post-card, not against two. A new little brother is a valuable
sentimental asset to a school-girl, and her school was then passing
through an acute phase of baby-worship. Happy the girl who had her
quiver full of them, who kissed them when she left home in the morning,
who had the right to extricate them from mail-carts in the interval, who
dangled them at tea ere they retired to rest! That one might sing
the unwritten song of Miriam, blessed above all school-girls, who was
allowed to hide her baby brother in a squashy place, where none but
herself could find him!

How could Irma keep silent when pretentious girls spoke of baby cousins
and baby visitors--she who had a baby brother, who wrote her post-cards
through his dear papa? She had promised not to tell about him--she knew
not why--and she told. And one girl told another, and one girl told her
mother, and the thing was out.

"Yes, it is all very sad," Mrs. Herriton kept saying. "My
daughter-in-law made a very unhappy marriage, as I dare say you know.
I suppose that the child will be educated in Italy. Possibly his
grandmother may be doing something, but I have not heard of it. I do not
expect that she will have him over. She disapproves of the father. It is
altogether a painful business for her."

She was careful only to scold Irma for disobedience--that eighth deadly
sin, so convenient to parents and guardians. Harriet would have plunged
into needless explanations and abuse. The child was ashamed, and talked
about the baby less. The end of the school year was at hand, and she
hoped to get another prize. But she also had put her hand to the wheel.

It was several days before they saw Miss Abbott. Mrs. Herriton had not
come across her much since the kiss of reconciliation, nor Philip since
the journey to London. She had, indeed, been rather a disappointment to
him. Her creditable display of originality had never been repeated:
he feared she was slipping back. Now she came about the Cottage
Hospital--her life was devoted to dull acts of charity--and though she
got money out of him and out of his mother, she still sat tight in her
chair, looking graver and more wooden than ever.

"I dare say you have heard," said Mrs. Herriton, well knowing what the
matter was.

"Yes, I have. I came to ask you; have any steps been taken?"

Philip was astonished. The question was impertinent in the extreme. He
had a regard for Miss Abbott, and re