e-chestnut you ever saw
in a bursting bur!

He walked back into the sitting-room, carrying it proudly before him.

Helen had just lighted the spirit-lamp beneath the swinging kettle on
the brass stand. Her face was rather white again.

"Here it is, Helen," he said. "The most beautiful 'cello you ever saw!
It is one hundred and fifty years old. It was made at Prague. I paid a
hundred and fifty pounds for it."

Helen looked.

"That was a good deal to pay for a 'cello," she said, yet conscious as
she spoke that--even as Peter on the Mount--she had made the remark
chiefly because she "wist not what to say."

"Not a bit!" said Ronnie. "A chap in the orchestra at the Hague, with a
fine 'cello of his own, told me he had never in his life handled such a
beauty. He considered it a wonderful bargain."

"It _is_ a beauty," said Helen, pouring hot water from the urn into the
teapot, with a hand which trembled.

Ronnie wheeled a third chair up to the low tea-table, opposite his own
particular seat, leaned his 'cello up against it, sat down, put his
elbows on his knees, and glowed at it with enthusiasm.

"I knew you would say so, darling. Ever since I bought it, after
choosing your organ at Zimmermann's, I have been thinking of the moment
when I should show it to you; though an even greater moment is coming
for us soon, Helen."

"Yes, Ronnie."

"Look how the two silver strings shine in the firelight. I call it the
Infant of Prague."

"Why the 'Infant'?"

"Because it is a hundred and fifty years old; and because you have to be
so careful not to bump its head, when you carry it about."

Helen put her hand to her throat.

"I think it is a foolish name for a violoncello," she said, coldly.

"Not at all," explained Ronnie. "It seems to me more appropriate every
day. My 'cello is the nicest infant that ever was; does what it's told,
gives no trouble, and only speaks when it's spoken to!"

Helen bent over the kettle. It was boiling. She could hear the water
bubbling; the lid began making little tentative leaps. Without lifting
her eyes, she made the tea.

Ronnie talked on volubly. It was so perfect to be back in his own
chair; to watch Helen making tea; and to have the Infant safely there to
show her.

Helen did not seem quite so much interested or so enthusiastic as he had
expected.

Suddenly he remembered Aubrey's joke.

Helen at that moment was handing him his cup of tea. He took it,
touching her fingers with