ndon there's always a heap of people
making up to her--and in Paris, too. She talks uncommon good
French--learnt it in the convent. I don't understand a word of what they
talk about--but she's a queen--I can tell you! She doesn't want
Archdeacons prating at her."

"It'll be all right when she knows the people."

"Of course, mother and I get along here all right. We've got to pick up
the threads again; but we do know all the people, and we like the old
place for grandfather's sake, and all the rest of it. But there isn't
much to amuse Daphne here."

"She'll be doing up the house."

"And offending mother all the time. I say, French, don't you think art's
an awful nuisance! When I hear Lelius yarning on about _quattro-cento_
and _cinque-cento_, I could drown myself. No! I suppose you're tarred
with the same brush." Roger shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I don't care,
so long as Daphne gets what she wants, and the place suits the child."
His ruddy countenance took a shade of anxiety.

French inquired what reason there was to suppose that Beatty would not
thrive perfectly at Heston. Roger could only say that the child had
seemed to flag a little since their arrival. Appetite not quite so good,
temper difficult, and so on. Their smart lady-nurse was not quite
satisfied. "And I've been finding out about doctors here," the young
father went on, knitting his brows: "blokes, most of them, and such old
blokes! I wouldn't trust Beatty to one of them. But I've heard of a new
man at Hereford--awfully good, they say--a wunner! And after all a motor
would soon run him out!"

He went on talking eagerly about the child, her beauty, her cleverness,
the plans Daphne had for her bringing up, and so on. No other child ever
had been, ever could be, so fetching, so "cunning," so lovely, such a
duck! The Frenches, indeed, possessed a boy of two, reputed handsome.
Roger wished to show himself indulgent to anything that might be pleaded
for him. "Dear little fellow!"--of course. But Beatty! Well! it was
surprising, indeed, that he should find himself the father of such a
little miracle; he didn't know what he'd done to deserve it. Herbert
French smiled as he walked.

"Of course, I hope there'll be a boy," said Roger, stopping suddenly to
look at Heston Park, half a mile off, emerging from the trees. "Daphne
would like a boy--so should I, and particularly now that we've got the
old house back again."

He stood and surveyed it. French notic