ies without begetting a proper little
Conservative," he had said, "our little chap's chances may be knocked
out, by a seat in the Lords. Nice country this--where a political career
can be smashed to smithereens by having to wear a bally title whether
you will or no."

It never seemed to cross his mind that Bobby might desire a career other
than political--or granting that he should not, that by a sort of
figurative reversion of species, he might become a Unionist instead of a
Liberal.

But Sophy did not have political ambitions for her son. She would rather
have seen him a great artist of some sort--the great poet of his day. In
her marriage seemed to have quenched the spark of mental creation. It
was a deep grief to her that she had felt no real desire to write since
becoming Chesney's wife. Only that saddest of all emotions--the desire
to desire. It was as if mocking, satyr-hoofs had trampled her mind's
garden. The fine poetry of her imaginative mood had not been able to
withstand the shocks of such a marriage as hers. Sometimes she had felt
bitterly, as though there were the print of a goat's hoof on her heart
and that it had filled slowly with blood. It was this scar that burnt
when she was unhappy.

"Oh, Gerald is sure to marry," she now said hastily. "He was so much
better when I saw him in April."

"Pf! He goes up and down. There's no counting on him," said his mother
bitterly. "Is your boy strong? He looks very healthy."

"He's splendidly strong," said Sophy proudly. "He's never had an ill day
in his life."

She gathered the boy close to her jealously. There was such a greedy,
appraising look in Lady Wychcote's eyes. She might have been a civilised
ogress, estimating from long habit the tender flesh of a child.

"Is he clever? Quick?"

"Very," said Sophy briefly.

"I hope you won't let Cecil instil his wretched Radical principles into
the boy's mind before he's able to think for himself."

"He thinks for himself already," said Sophy, with a slight smile.

"Well--who knows? We may yet give another famous man to the Conservative
cause," said Lady Wychcote, still gazing at Bobby. Then she said to him:

"Come to your grandmother, child."

Sophy impelled him forward, and he went slowly but steadily, and stood
before the young-old lady, his hands behind him, his little stomach
thrust forward. It was the true statesman's attitude. But Bobby was only
wondering why the lady had black specks all over her f