suddenly sucked at it, twisting her father’s ear in her small fingers till he winced.
“Her nails are sharp,” he said, smiling.
He began asking and giving the small information that pass between friends who have not met for a long time. The baby laid her head on his shoulder, keeping her tired, owl-like eyes fixed darkly on us. Then gradually the lids fluttered and sank, and she dropped on to his arm.
“She is asleep,” whispered Lettie.
Immediately the dark eyes opened again. We looked significantly at one another, continuing our subdued talk. After a while the baby slept soundly. Presently Meg came downstairs. She greeted us in breathless whispers of surprise, and then turned to her husband.
“Has she gone?” she whispered, bending over the sleeping child in astonishment. “My, this is wonderful, isn’t it!”
She took the sleeping, drooping baby from his arms, putting her mouth close to its forehead, murmuring with soothing, inarticulate sounds.
We stayed talking for some time when Meg had put the baby to bed. George had a new tone of assurance and authority. In the first place he was an established man, living in a large house, having altogether three men working for him. In the second place he had ceased to value the conventional treasures of social position and ostentatious refinement. Very, very many things he condemned as flummery and sickly waste of time. The life of an ordinary well-to-do person he set down as adorned futility, almost idiocy. He spoke passionately of
