ut thought none the less of her for that. The
artificial always interested him more than the natural.

He looked at the baby again with a certain distaste. He had heard from
Farwell the story of Mag's adoption into the Storm household, and it had
rather shocked him. What was the woman thinking of to surround her young
daughters with such influences? Naturally one would not expect prudery,
conventionality, from the mistress of Storm, but in his experience quite
_declasee_ women guarded more carefully than this the morals of their
young.

"I can't think why you want to keep the infant," he said.

Jacqueline looked at him in surprise. "Why, she's perfectly sweet! Look
at her precious little curls, and her chubby feet, and all!" She
gathered the small Kitty up in her arms protectively. "Didn't the bad
old man admire her, then? Bless its heart! Just shows what a stupid he
is--Why, Mr. Channing, everybody wants a baby!"

He murmured, "Yes? But in the natural course of events, surely--"

"I might have some of my own, you mean? I hope so--oh, I do hope so!
Lots and lots of them. But I might not, you know. The natural course of
events doesn't always happen. I might be an old maid. Or I might be
wedded to my Art. 'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' Have
you ever thought how perfectly _awful_ it would be to go through life
without any children at all?"

Mr. Channing admitted that he had not, and changed the subject. "What
particular Art are you thinking of being wedded to?"

Jacqueline looked at him reproachfully, hurt. "I should think you'd
know. Didn't you hear me practising?"

The author did not smile. Crude and untrained as it was, he had
recognized in that young contralto a quality that made him start. He was
always very quick to recognize talent.

"I was going to speak to you about that," he said seriously. "Do you
know that you have quite a remarkable voice, Miss Jacqueline?"

"Of course I know it! But what's the use if nobody else does? A voice
with nobody to listen to it is--is like being pretty with nobody to tell
you so."

"Does nobody tell you _that_?" he murmured.

She dimpled again, flushing under his frank gaze. "They think I'm too
young for compliments! As for my voice, it's getting so strong that
Mummy and the Blossom are always saying to me, 'Not so loud.' If I let
it out in the house, they put their fingers in their ears. If I let it
out in church, Jemmy says I'm drowning the soprano--an