d as for what _he_ wished--what would be good for _him_--that she
never seemed to think of. And, really, some of the things she said now
and then about money--nobody with the spirit of a mouse could stand
them.

To comfort his worries he went first of all to the nursery, where he
found the nursery-maid in charge, and the child already asleep. Miss
Farmer, it appeared, had been enjoying a "day off," and was not expected
back till late. He knelt down beside the little girl, feeding his eyes
upon her. She lay with her delicate face pressed into the pillow, the
small neck visible under the cloud of hair, one hand, the soft palm
uppermost, on the sheet. He bent down and kissed the hand, glad that the
sharp-faced nurse was not there to see. The touch of the fragrant skin
thrilled him with pride and joy; so did the lovely defencelessness of
the child's sleep. That such a possession should have been given to him,
to guard and cherish! There was in his mind a passionate vow to guard
the little thing--aye, with his life-blood; and then a movement of
laughter at his own heroics. Well!--Daphne might give him sons--but he
did not suppose any other child could ever be quite the same to him as
Beatty. He sat in a contented silence, feeding his eyes upon her, as the
soft breath rose and fell. And as he did so, his temper softened and
warmed toward Beatty's mother.

A little later he found Daphne in her room, already dressed for dinner.
He approached her uneasily.

"How tired you look, Daphne! What have you been doing to yourself?"

Daphne stiffly pointed out that she had been standing over the workmen
all day, there being no one else to stand over them, and of course she
was tired. Her manner would have provoked him but for the visiting of an
inward compunction. Instead of showing annoyance he bent down and kissed
her.

"I'll stay and help to-morrow, if you want me, though you know I'm no
good. I say, how much more are you going to do to the house?"

Daphne looked at him coldly. She had not returned the kiss. "Of course,
I know that you don't appreciate in the least what I am doing!"

Roger thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked up and down
uncomfortably. He thought, in fact, that Daphne was spoiling the dear
nondescript old place, and he knew that the neighbourhood thought so
too. Also he particularly disliked the young architect who was
superintending the works ("a priggish ass," who gave himself abominable
airs--excep