nd--of other things.

Hilary looked at the baby, and the baby looked at him. The eyes of that
tiny scrap of grey humanity seemed saying:

'You are not my mother, I believe?'

He stooped down and touched its cheek. The baby blinked its black eyes
once.

'No,' it seemed, to say again, 'you are not my mother.'

A lump rose in Hilary's throat; he turned and went downstairs. Pausing
outside the little model's door, he knocked, and, receiving no answer,
turned the handle. The little square room was empty; it was neat and
clean enough, with a pink-flowered paper of comparatively modern date.
Through its open window could be seen a pear-tree in full bloom. Hilary
shut the door again with care, ashamed of having opened it.

On the half-landing, staring up at him with black eyes like the baby's,
was a man of medium height and active build, whose short face, with
broad cheekbones, cropped dark hair, straight nose, and little black
moustache, was burnt a dark dun colour. He was dressed in the uniform
of those who sweep the streets--a loose blue blouse, and trousers tucked
into boots reaching half-way up his calves; he held a peaked cap in his
hand.

After some seconds of mutual admiration, Hilary said:

"Mr. Hughs, I believe?" Yes.

"I've been up to see your wife."

"Have you?"

"You know me, I suppose?"

"Yes, I know you."

"Unfortunately, there's only your baby at home."

Hughs motioned with his cap towards the little model's room. "I thought
perhaps you'd been to see her," he said. His black eyes smouldered;
there was more than class resentment in the expression of his face.

Flushing slightly and giving him a keen look, Hilary passed down the
stairs without replying. But Miranda had not followed. She stood, with
one paw delicately held up above the topmost step.

'I don't know this man,' she seemed to say, 'and I don't like his
looks.'

Hughs grinned. "I never hurt a dumb animal," he said; "come on, tykie!"

Stimulated by a word she had never thought to hear, Miranda descended
rapidly.

'He meant that for impudence,' thought Hilary as he walked away.

"Westminister, sir? Oh dear!"

A skinny trembling hand was offering him a greenish newspaper.

"Terrible cold wind for the time o' year!"

A very aged man in black-rimmed spectacles, with a distended nose
and long upper lip and chin, was tentatively fumbling out change for
sixpence.

"I seem to know your face," said Hilary.

"Oh dear, yes. You dea