emains that he has come, is feeding, growing, stretching, and
bellowing too, like a young bull-calf, when anything doesn't suit him.
He is here, very much here, I tell you. And so we have just got to
consider how to make the best of him, both for his own sake and for
Lady Calmady's. And you must understand he is a splendid, little
animal, clean skinned and strong, as you would expect, being the child
of two such fine young people. He is beautiful,--I am old-fashioned
enough, perhaps scientific enough, to put a good deal of faith in that
notion,--beautiful as a child only can be who is born of the passion of
true lovers."

He paused, looking somewhat mockingly at Julius.

"Yes, love is an incalculably great, natural force," he continued. "It
comes uncommonly near working miracles at times, unconscious and rather
deplorable miracles. In this case it has worked strangely against
itself--at once for irreparable injury and for perfection. For the
child is perfect, is superb, but for the one thing."

"Does my sister know?" Ormiston asked hoarsely.

"Not yet; and, as long as we can keep the truth from her, she had
better not know. We must get her a little stronger, if we can, first.
That woman, Mrs. Denny, is worth her weight in gold, and her weight's
not inconsiderable. She has her wits about her, and has contrived to
meet all difficulties so far."

Ormiston sat in the same dejected attitude.

"But my sister is bound to know before long."

"Of course. When she is a bit better, she'll want to have the baby to
play with, dress and undress it and see what the queer little being is
made of. It's a way young mothers have, and a very pretty way too. If
we keep the child from her she will grow suspicious, and take means to
find out for herself, and that won't do. It must not be. I won't be
responsible for the consequences. So as soon as she asks a definite
question, she must have a definite answer."

The young man looked up quickly.

"And who is to give the answer?" he said.

"Well, it rests chiefly with you to decide that. Clearly she ought not
to hear this thing from a servant. It is too serious. It needs to be
well told--the whole kept at a high level, if you understand me. Give
Lady Calmady a great part and she will play it nobly. Let this come
upon her from a mean, wet-nurse, hospital-ward sort of level, and it
may break her. What we have to do is to keep up her pluck. Remember we
are only at the beginning of this b