don felt provoked. "What is that you say, Edward?" she asked,
laying her hand upon his shoulder in reproval.

"Let me alone, mamma. He'll never be anything but Regy Elster. _I_ shall
be Lord Hartledon, and jam's proper for me, and it's fair I should put
upon him."

The nurse flounced off with Reginald, and Lady Hartledon turned to her
husband. "Is this to be suffered? Will you allow it to pass without
correction?"

"He means nothing," said Val. "Do you, Edward, my boy?"

"Yes, I do; I mean what I say. I shall stand up for myself and Maude."

Hartledon made no remonstrance: only drew the boy to him, with a hasty
gesture, as though he would shield him from anger and the world.

Anne, hurt almost to tears, quitted the room. But she had scarcely
reached her own when she remembered that she had left a diamond brooch in
the nursery, which she had just been about to put into her dress when
alarmed by the cries. She went back for it, and stood almost confounded
by what she saw. Lord Hartledon, sitting down, had clasped his boy in his
arms, and was sobbing over him; emotion such as man rarely betrays.

"Papa, Regy and the other two are not going to put me and Maude out of
our places, are they? They can't, you know. We come first."

"Yes, yes, my boy; no one shall put you out," was the answer, as he
pressed passionate kisses on the boy's face. "I will stand by you for
ever."

Very judicious indeed! the once sensible man seemed to ignore the evident
fact that the boy had been tutored. Lady Hartledon, a fear creeping over
her, she knew not of what, left her brooch where it was, and stole back
to her dressing-room.

Presently Val came in, all traces of emotion removed from his features.
Lady Hartledon had dismissed her maid, and stood leaning against the arm
of the sofa, indulging in bitter rumination.

"Silly children!" cried he; "it's hard work to manage them. And Edward
has lost his pow--"

He broke off; stopped by the look of angry reproach from his wife, cast
on him for the first time in their married life. He took her hand and
bent down to her: fervent love, if ever she read it, in his eyes and
tones.

"Forgive me, Anne; you are feeling this."

"Why do you throw these slights on my children? Why are you not more
just?"

"I do not intend to slight our children, Anne, Heaven knows. But I--I
cannot punish Edward."

"Why did you ever make me your wife?" sighed Lady Hartledon, drawing her
hand away.

His poor