e last wrapping slid off. He held out to her in his two hands a little
kicking image of bronze.

"Take him!"

She would not touch the child.

"I must go at once," she cried; for the tears--the wrong tears--were
hurrying to her eyes.

"Who would have believed his mother was blonde? For he is brown all
over--brown every inch of him. Ah, but how beautiful he is! And he is
mine; mine for ever. Even if he hates me he will be mine. He cannot help
it; he is made out of me; I am his father."

It was too late to go. She could not tell why, but it was too late.
She turned away her head when Gino lifted his son to his lips. This was
something too remote from the prettiness of the nursery. The man was
majestic; he was a part of Nature; in no ordinary love scene could he
ever be so great. For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to the
children; and--by some sad, strange irony--it does not bind us children
to our parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not with
gratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathos
and much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy. Gino
passionately embracing, Miss Abbott reverently averting her eyes--both
of them had parents whom they did not love so very much.

"May I help you to wash him?" she asked humbly.

He gave her his son without speaking, and they knelt side by side,
tucking up their sleeves. The child had stopped crying, and his arms and
legs were agitated by some overpowering joy. Miss Abbott had a woman's
pleasure in cleaning anything--more especially when the thing was human.
She understood little babies from long experience in a district, and
Gino soon ceased to give her directions, and only gave her thanks.

"It is very kind of you," he murmured, "especially in your beautiful
dress. He is nearly clean already. Why, I take the whole morning! There
is so much more of a baby than one expects. And Perfetta washes him just
as she washes clothes. Then he screams for hours. My wife is to have a
light hand. Ah, how he kicks! Has he splashed you? I am very sorry."

"I am ready for a soft towel now," said Miss Abbott, who was strangely
exalted by the service.

"Certainly! certainly!" He strode in a knowing way to a cupboard. But
he had no idea where the soft towel was. Generally he dabbed the baby on
the first dry thing he found.

"And if you had any powder."

He struck his forehead despairingly. Apparently the stock of powder was
just exh