their nurses to the sea, the father enjoyed himself on Scottish
golf links; the mother toured abroad with a woman friend. Each autumn
the neighbours agreed to profit by the example of the Francis Mannings,
and to do likewise the next summer; but somehow it never came off. When
spring came round the wife would conscientiously remind her husband of
the resolve, and urge him to keep it, while gracefully withdrawing
herself. "Margot has had several of those bad chest colds," she would
explain. "I should be so anxious in case she caught a chill. It really
is my duty to go with the children but _you_, dear, you could quite
well--"

"Well! I don't know," the husband would reply. "What would become of
you in the evenings? And I promised to teach Jack to swim. I think, on
the whole, we'd better stick to the old arrangement this summer."

So once more they would depart _en famille_ to the seaside, and stay in
lodgings, and be happy in the old domesticated fashion. But also, quite
frequently, bored!

On the rare occasions when he gave himself over to thought, Francis
realised that there was only one respect in which life had disappointed
him, only one desire which had been withheld. He wanted a son. Each
time that a child had been expected he had built his hopes upon a son;
each time disappointment had been more acute. He had built up a good
business by his own exertions; he wanted a son of his own name to carry
it on. There were times, moreover, when the purely feminine nature of
his household fretted his nerves, and he thought, with longing, of a man
child; a little chappie in trousers, instead of the eternal flounces; a
knickerbockered elf sitting in his dressing-room watching him shave; a
tall hobbledehoy beginning to play golf, listening with interest to
accounts of his father's prowess. Later on, a man, a partner, a prop
for declining years. Francis pushed the thought from him, but it
recurred. Deep at his heart lay the longing for a son.

And the son came. This time he had not hoped; he had told himself
steadily that it would be a girl. Better if it were a girl. No use
having a boy at the end of a family of girls. He would grow up half a
girl himself, and be a disappointment. He was placidly resigned to
girl, and after all, behold, it was a boy! The blood raced through his
veins as he heard the good news; something astonishingly like tears
pricked at his eyes.

"Is he--is he _all right_?" he aske