ptures
over the baby. For my part, I never look at them when they are babies.
Indeed, I don't like children, and all ours are so spoilt. Wilhelmina
doesn't know how to manage them, and now their governess is away, the
house is like a lunatic asylum.'

'Oh, Gwynne, how abthurd you are! He ith tho fond of them, Freda, you
can't think, and they are thuch little dearth.'

'I was greatly amused,' said Freda, 'to hear Minnie call Harold "uncle,"
just now; and he seemed not a little proud of his dignity.'

'Surely, Freda, you haven't learnt to talk baby talk!' said Colonel
Vaughan. 'You used to eschew such twaddle.'

'It was time for me to learn to like a great many things that I
professed to hate. I hope I am improved since I was here last. But I
always liked children.'

'Oh! Harold is so fond of her,' said Mr Gwynne. 'He is a wonderful boy.'

Here followed a history of various achievements of Harold, during which
Colonel Vaughan vainly endeavoured to catch Freda's eye. She was only
too well-disposed to smile at the infatuation of the doating father.

'Here are the children, I think,' said Lady Mary.

In bounded Harold, and jumped, unbidden, on Freda's lap.

'I ull have some of that--and that,' said Harold.

'And I will have--' began Minnie.

'You will have nothing if you ask for it,' said the colonel with a
frown.

His little trio were quiet in a moment.

'Ganpapa, take me up,' said Dot, creeping round to Mr Gwynne.

Freda felt her blood creep at that word 'Grandpapa,' and also felt the
colonel's glance. He seemed to take a pleasure in watching every
expression of her countenance, and it did, unfortunately, always convey
her feelings to the watcher.

Freda had never passed so uncomfortable a dinner since the day when the
present Mrs Vaughan came of age. Probably she was the only one of the
party who was conscious of Colonel Vaughan's changed manner and temper,
because it was new to her, and she could scarcely believe him to be
himself. Her father was wrapped up in his boy--his wife's attention was
divided between him and the other children, and Mrs Vaughan smiled and
lisped on all by turns.

Freda thought of old times, when her father and herself were so happy
together; and then she thought of the last Christmas day in London, when
Mr and Mrs Jones, Rowland, and herself dined late off a Glanyravon Park
turkey, having first feasted as many poor people as the kitchen would
hold, on geese from Glanyravon Far