ront door close after him.
Tims sat down in the chair which he had vacated.

"Poor old M.!" she ejaculated again, presently, and added: "What idiots
men are! All except old Carus and Mr. Fitzallan. He's sensible enough."

Her thoughts wandered away, until they were recalled by the door opening
a mere chink to let a child slip into the room--a slim, tall child, in a
blue smock--Tony. His thick, dark hair was cropped boywise now, and the
likeness of the beautiful, sensitive child face to Ian's was more
marked. It was evident that in him there was to be no blending of
strains, but an exact reproduction of the paternal type.

Tims was in his eyes purely a comic character, but the ready grin with
which he usually greeted her was replaced to-day by a little,
inattentive smile. He went past her and stood by the sofa, looking
fixedly at his mother with a grave mouth and a slight frown on his
forehead. At length he turned away, and was about to leave the room as
quietly as he had come, when Tims brought him to a stand-still at her
knee. He held up an admonishing finger.

"Sh! Don't you wake my Mummy, or Daddy 'll be angry with you."

"We sha'n't wake her; she's too fast asleep. Tell me why you looked so
solemnly at her just now, Tony?"

Tony, his hands held fast, wriggled, rubbed his shoulder against his
ear, and for all answer laughed in a childish, silly way. Such is the
depth and secretiveness of children, whom we call transparent.

"Did you think Mummy was dead?"

"What's 'dead'?" asked Tony, with interest, putting off his mask of
inanity.

"People are dead when they've gone to sleep and will never wake again,"
returned Tims.

Tony thought a minute; then his dark eyes grew very large. He whispered
slowly, as though with difficulty formulating his ideas:

"Doesn't they _never_ wake? Doesn't they wake up after ever so long,
when peoples can't remember everything--and it makes them want to cry,
only grown-up people aren't 'lowed?"

Tims was puzzled. But even in her bewilderment it occurred to her that
if poor Milly should return, she would be distressed to find in what a
slovenly manner Tony was allowed to express himself.

"I don't know what you mean, Tony. Say it again and put it more
clearly."

Tims had around her neck a necklace composed of casts of coins in the
British Museum. She did not usually wear ornaments, because she
possessed none, except a hair-bracelet, two brooches, and a large gold
cross which