“There's a step out of Jane Elphick's bedroom,” she went on--“and his first step in the world ought to be up. I shouldn't wonder if those people hadn't put it there on purpose. George, will it make any odds to you if he's a girl?” He answered, as he had many times before, that his interest was his wife, not the child. “Then you're the only person who thinks so.” She laughed. “Don't be silly, dear. It's expected. I know. It's my duty. I shan't be able to look our people in the face if I fail.” “What concern is it of theirs, confound 'em!” “You'll see. Luckily the tradition of the house is boys, Mrs. Cloke says, so I'm provided for. Shall you ever begin to understand these people? I shan't.” “And we bought it for fun--for fun!” he groaned. “And here we are held up for goodness knows how long!” “Why? Were you thinking of selling it?” He did not answer. “Do you remember the second Mrs. Chapin?” she demanded. This was a bold, brazen little black-browed woman--a widow for choice--who on Sophie's death was guilefully to marry George for his wealth and ruin him in a year. George being busy, Sophie had invented her some two years after her marriage, and conceived she was alone among wives in so doing. “You aren't going to bring her up again?” he asked anxiously. “I only want to say that I should hate any one who bought Pardons ten times worse than I used to hate the second Mrs. Chapin. Think what we've put into it of our two selves.” “At least a couple of million dollars. I know I could have made--” He broke off. “The beasts!” she went on. “They'd be sure to build a red-brick lodge at the gates, and cut the lawn up for bedding out. You must leave instructions in your will that he's never to do that, George, won't you?” He laughed and took her hand again but said nothing till it was time to dress. Then he muttered: “What the devil use is a man's country to him when he can't do business in it?” Friars Pardon stood faithful to its tradition. At the appointed time was born, not that third in their party to whom Sophie meant to be so kind, but a godling; in beauty, it was manifest, excelling Eros, as in wisdom Confucius; an enhancer of delights, a renewer of companionships and an interpreter of Destiny. This last George did not realise till he met Lady Conant striding through Dutton Shaw a few days after the event. “My dear fellow,” she cried, and slapped him heartily on the back, “I can't tell you how glad we all are. Oh, she'll be all right. (There's never been any trouble over the birth of an heir at Pardons.) Now where the dooce is it?” She felt largely in her leather-boundskirt and drew out a small silver mug. “I sent a note to your wife about it, but my silly ass of a groom forgot to take this. You can save me a tramp. Give her my love.” She marched off amid her guard of grave Airedales. The mug was worn and dented: above the twined initials, G.L., was the crest of a footless bird and the motto: “Wayte awhyle--wayte awhyle.”