begged me to go; and I fancy
she will be rather glad to have no distraction from the child. I am
only in the way of her perpetual walking up and down the room with him
whining in her arms.'

'Ah! it is an unlucky affair,' said Mrs. Nesbit, in her sarcastic tone
of condolence; 'she will never rear it.'

She seemed, in her triumph, to have forgotten that its father was
present, and his impatient speech had certainly not been such as to
bring it to mind; but this was too much, and, starting, he hastily
exclaimed, 'Children always do make a fuss about their teeth!'

'I do not speak without the authority of medical men,' said Mrs. Nesbit.
'I don't blame your wife, poor thing.'

What do you mean? cried Arthur, colour and voice both rising.

'I am surprised your brother kept it from you,' said she, gratified at
torturing him; 'you ought to have been informed.'

'Tell me at once,' said Arthur.

'Only this, Arthur,' said his father, interposing: 'when first the
doctor at Ventnor saw him he thought him very delicate, and told John
that he would hardly get through the first year without great care.'

'He has all but done that!' said Arthur, breathing more freely; 'he will
be a year old on the third.'

'Yes; afterwards the doctor thought much better of him, and John saw no
occasion to make you and Violet more anxious.'

'Then it all goes for nothing!' said Arthur, looking full at his aunt
with defiance, and moving to the furthest end of the room.

But it did not go for nothing. He could not shake off the impression.
The child's illness had never been so alarming as to stir up his
feelings, though his comfort had been interfered with; and there were
recollections of impatience that came painfully upon him. He knew that
Violet thought him more indifferent to his child than he really was;
and, though she had never uttered a complaint or reproach, he was sure
that he had hurt and distressed her by displeasure at the crying, and
by making light of the anxieties, which he now learnt were but too well
founded.

Arthur's easiness and selfishness made him slow to take alarm, but when
once awakened there was no limit to his anxiety. He knew now what it
would be to lose his first-born. He thought of the moment when the babe
had been laid on his hand, and of the sad hours when that feeble cry had
been like a charm, holding the mother to life; and his heart smote
him as he thought of never hearing again the voice of which he had