, but not so to Tommy. It is
exactly what nurse had said to her daughter the day before she left
Ireland with Tommy and Mabel in charge, when her daughter had brought
her the half of her wages. Therefore it must be correct. To supplement
this blessing Tommy flings his arms around Sir George's neck and gives
him a resounding kiss. Nurse had done that, too, to her daughter.

"God bless you too, my dear," says Sir George, if not quite as solemnly,
with considerably more tenderness. Tommy's mother, catching the words
and the tone, cheers up. All is not lost yet! The situation is saved.
Tommy has won the day. The inconsequent Tommy of all people! Insult to
herself she had endured, but to have the children disliked would have
been more than she could bear; bur Tommy, apparently, is not
disliked--by the old man at all events. That fact will be sweet to
Freddy. After all, who could resist Tommy? Tears rise to the mother's
eyes. Darling boy! Where is his like upon the whole wide earth? Nowhere.

She is disturbed in her reverie by the fact that the originator of it is
running toward her with one little closed fist outstretched. How he
runs! His fat calves come twinkling across the carpet.

"See, mammy, what I've got. Grandpa gave it to me. Isn't he nice? Now
I'll buy a watch like pappy's."

"You have made him very happy," says Barbara, smiling at Sir George over
her boy's head. She rises as she speaks, and goes to where Lady Monkton
is sitting to bid her good-bye.

"I hope you will come soon again," says Lady Monkton, not cordially, but
as if compelled to it; "and I hope, too," pausing as if to gather
herself together, "that when you do come you will bring your sister with
you. It will give me--us--pleasure to see her." There is such a dearth
of pleasure in the tone of the invitation that Barbara feels her wrath
rising within her.

"I thank you," she manages to say very calmly, not committing herself,
either way, and presently finds herself in the street with her husband
and her children. They had declined Lady Monkton's offer of the brougham
to take them home.

"It was a bad time," says Monkton while waiting at a crossing for a cab
to come to them. "But you must try and not mind them. If the fact that I
am always with you counts for anything, it may help you to endure it."

"What help could be like it?" says she, tightening her hand on his arm.

"That old woman, my aunt. She offended you, but you must remember that
she