There was, it might be said, a double illumination. " "Merciful providence!" exclaimed the female. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. . His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. It felt too good. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. "I thought it best that you should imagine him.
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