by up, with his little naked legs
kicking in Tanqueray's face. At ten months old he was a really charming
baby, and very like Brodrick.

"Do you like him?" she said.

He stepped back and considered her. She had put her little son down on
the floor, where, by an absurd rising and falling motion of his rosy
hips, he contrived to travel across the room towards the fireplace.

Tanqueray said that he liked the effect of him.

"The general effect? It _is_ heartrending."

"I mean his effect on you, Jinny. He makes you look like some nice,
furry animal in a wood."

At that she snatched the child from his goal, the sharp curb of the
hearthstone, and set him on her shoulder. Her face was turned up to him,
his hands were in her hair. Mother and child they laughed together.

And Tanqueray looked at her, thinking how never before had he seen her
just like that; never before with her body, tall for sheer slenderness,
curved backwards, with her face so turned, and her mouth, fawn-like,
tilting upwards, the lips half-mocking, half-maternal.

It was Jinny, shaped by the powers of life.

"Now," he said, "he makes you look like a young Maenad; mad, Jinny, drunk
with life, and dangerous to life. What are you going to do with him?"

At that moment Gertrude Collett appeared in the doorway.

She returned Tanqueray's greeting as if she hardly saw him. Her face was
set towards Jane Brodrick and the child.

"I am going," said Jane, "to give him to any one who wants him. I am
going to give him to Miss Collett. There--you may keep him as long as
you like."

Gertrude advanced, impassive, scarcely smiling. But as she took the
child from Jane, Tanqueray saw how the fine lines of her lips tightened,
relaxed, and tightened again, as if her tenderness were pain.

She laid the little thing across her shoulder and went from them without
a word.

"He goes like a lamb," said Jane. "A month ago he'd have howled the
house down."

"So that's how you've solved your problem?" said Tanqueray, as he closed
the door behind Miss Collett.

"Yes. Isn't it simple?"

"Very. But you always were."

From his corner of the fireside lounge, where he seated himself beside
her, his eyes regarded her with a grave and dark lucidity. The devil in
them was quiet for a time.

"That's a wonderful woman, George," said she.

"Not half so wonderful as you," he murmured. (It was what Brodrick had
once said.)

"She's been here exactly two months and--it's inc