"But you do not _think_ it will die?" she cried, taking up some alarm. "Oh, Francis, I should not like him to die, now he has come!" He went round to soothe her, the word "Francis" causing his heart to leap. For in a general way she persistently called him "Mr. Grubb," and not graciously either. "My darling, I assure you there is no cause for alarm. So far as I know, the child is not ill; it will, I hope, do well. Dr. Dove does not think him particularly strong--but what can be expected of a two-day-old baby?" "True," answered Adela, feeling reassured again. "Francis, I do believe there's mamma coming up! Yes, it is her voice. Mind you don't tell her----" Lady Acorn came swiftly in; and, what he was not to tell her, Mr. Grubb never knew. She had dressed early for church, and came round to see Adela on her way to it. Grace was with her. One of the daughters had married during the past year, but it was not Grace. It was Harriet; she had espoused a little Scotch laird, Sir Sandy MacIvor. Peppery and red, in came the countess, for she had just heard something that vexed her; Lady Grace, so calm and still, presented a contrast to her vivacious mother. "Well, and now what's this I hear about things not going on well?" began Lady Acorn, subduing her voice with difficulty to the requisition of a sick-room. "I am going on very well, mamma--how do you mean?" returned Adela, assuming the doubt must apply to herself. "I have made a famous breakfast. They let me have an egg and some buttered toast." "You are all right, Dove says--we have just met him," returned Lady Acorn. "But he does not think the baby is. And you have yourself to thank for it, Adela." The pink tinge on Lady Adela's cheeks increased to rose colour, as she armed herself to do battle with her mother. "Dove says the baby wants its proper food; not that gruel stuff, or milk-and-water, or whatever rubbish it is, that it is being dosed with. And it is not too late for you to reform, Adela, and do what you ought." "It is too late," retorted Adela, with flaming cheeks. "And if you begin about it again, mamma, you will make me ill. Francis"--stretching out her arm for her husband--"don't let me be worried. You promised me, you know." With a loving word to his wife, a reassuring pressure of her hand, which he kept in his, he turned to Lady Acorn, and spoke to her in a low tone. "Talk to her when she's better and more able to bear it!" repeated the countess, taking up his words aloud. "Why, my good man, it would be too late. And--you do not want to lose your child, I suppose!" "Indeed, I do not. But, better lose my child than my wife."