A month later the removal was accomplished, and Jean struggled valiantly to make the best of the altered conditions. She rarely complained-- never in Robert's presence; set herself diligently to the study of economy, and put aside embroidery and painting in favour of plain sewing and mending. In six months' time the new _menage_ was running as smoothly as if it had been in existence for years, and neither the master of the house nor his children had suffered any diminution of comfort from the change. Robert's special little fads were attended to as scrupulously as in the larger establishment; the little girls were invariably spick-and-span, but no observant eyes could fail to notice the change in Jean herself. She was older, graver, less ready to sparkle with mischievous gaiety. She had hidden her trouble out of sight, as years before she had hidden the baby clothes destined for the little dead son, but it had left its mark. With the best will in the world she could not change her nature, and her artistic sensibilities met a fresh wound every time she walked up and down stairs, every time she entered a room, every time she walked down the dull suburban street. She was in the wrong environment, and her beauty-loving nature was starved and hungry. Robert was happily unconscious of the change, or if he noticed it was content to ascribe it to a more obvious reason. He himself was ready to welcome his fourth child with an ardour undamped by considerations of money. He adored children, and was delighted that the three-year-old Joyce should have a successor; but Jean's satisfaction was dependent on a possibility--"If it is a boy!" A live son would compensate a hundred times over for the added strain and burden involved by the addition to the nursery. But the son was not forthcoming, and when a third little daughter was put into her arms Jean shed weak tears of disappointment. "She's the prettiest of all your babies, Jean," Vanna declared a week later as she nursed the little flannel bundle on her arm, and gazed down at the small downy head. "She has just your eyes." "All babies' eyes are the same." "This baby's aren't; and she has the daintiest little head! Lorna's head was ugly at this stage. And her nose! Her nose is perfect." "Is it?" The voice from the bed was so listless and faint that Vanna held up the little face, insisting upon notice. "Look at her! Look for yourself. Acknowledge that she is a duck!" Jean's lip quivered. "I wanted a boy, a little son to make up... It seems so hard--" Vanna pressed the downy head to her heart. "Poor little superfluous woman! You are not wanted, it seems. Give her to me, Jean--she'd be worth the whole world. I mean it, you know! Say the word and I'll take her home this moment, and adopt her for life." But at this Jean opened wide, protesting eyes.