"By its mouth. A boy could never have a mouth like that."
"I don't know that, my dear. I've seen boys with mouths"
"But look at the dimples, my dear."
"I have seen boys with dimples"
"Joe Kelly, you are the durnedest fool alive." This emotioned statement was the grace to a very substantial slice of buttered toast. Joe ate steadily, but his countenance now bore a family likeness to that of a bear.
"Suppose we say Mary? It's the best name there is, I always think."
"But it may turn out a George, my dear. I hope it will."
"I feel sure it's a Mary," affirmed the godmother of the sleeping babe. "I wonder who are the parents?"
"Whoever's child it may be," said the mother-elect, "one thing is sure. They are people well up. I don't think I ever saw a child so cared for. And, my dear, look at the shape of that chin and the set of that ear. And that lovely hand—a perfect picture with its filbert nails. Look at the fall of those eyelids. No wonder it comes out of Grosvenor Square."
"Grosvenor Square I'll not swear to," came a further interpellation from the table.
"Get on with your tea, Joe," said the mother-elect. "What we are talking of is no concern of yours."
The miserable Joe took off his boots and put on a pair of carpet slippers.
"You've made a bad slip-up, my boy," he remarked, as he did so.
