"Yes; that is my son's little boy."
"Indeed!" said Lady Debarry, really amazed. "I never heard you speak of his marriage. He has brought you home a daughter-in-law, then?"
"No," said Mrs Transome, coldly; "she is dead."
"O — o — oh!" said Lady Debarry, in a tone ludicrously undecided between condolence, satisfaction, and general mistiness. "How very singular — I mean that we should not have heard of Mr Harold's marriage. But he's a charming little fellow: come to me, you round-cheeked cherub."
The black eyes continued fixed as if by a sort of fascination on Lady Debarry's face, and her affable invitation was unheeded. At last, putting his head forward and pouting his lips, the cherub gave forth with marked intention the sounds, "Nau-o-oom," many times repeated: apparently they summed up his opinion of Lady Debarry, and may perhaps have meant "naughty old woman," but his speech was a broken lisping polyglot of hazardous interpretation. Then he turned to pull at the Blenheim spaniel, which, being old and peevish, gave a little snap.
"Go, go, Harry; let poor Puff alone — he'll bite you," said Mrs Transome, stooping to release her aged pet.
Her words were too suggestive, for Harry imme-
