They were taken up almost to the top of a high building. The flat was evidently small and inexpensive. As they entered Cynthia was struck with the effect of an aggressive effort to conceal. Everything seemed unnaturally placed so as to hide something else, and to block views. There were a quantity of unnecessary things, and some very bad pictures. Millicent had never had much art though she had a great deal of talent, but the talent had deteriorated and the art vanished. Sitting on the floor, his head a mass of dark curls, with wide, blue, astonished eyes, was a little fellow of about six, in quaint, tight black velvet trousers. He looked at his mother wistfully. “You said he would come back,” he exclaimed sorrowfully; “but he hasn’t for hours and hours!” “Why, Launcelot, how silly you are,” cried his mother; “come here, right away, and shake hands with this lady. Aren’t you _glad_ to see mother come home so soon?” The child rose obediently and advanced towards Cynthia. His eyes were heavy with the difficulty to express his thoughts, his eyebrows were knitted painfully. Cynthia’s eyes grew tender as they met his. “What have you lost, sonnie?” she asked gently. “Oh, it’s Tony that’s goned away,” he began eagerly. “The child’s bird escaped out of the window this morning,” his mother explained contemptuously; “Marie opened the cage, or something. The thing squealed awfully; it’s rather a relief. Now, Launcelot, you go back to your bricks, and mother will give you some candy by-and-bye.” But Cynthia held the child’s hand. “I want to hear about Tony,” she said firmly. The boy’s eyes were full of tears, but he controlled himself manfully. “If God has taken him,” he said, “I think it’s very selfish. God has birds and birds, and I only had Tony.” “Why, Launcelot Perval,” exclaimed his mother in shocked tones, “whatever do you mean? You’re a very naughty boy to talk so; mother’ll have to punish you if you say such things.” The boy ignored his mother. She might have been an intrusive fly. He brushed her away. Cynthia understood. “But perhaps God didn’t take him,” she suggested thoughtfully. The boy’s face brightened, but clouded again. “He lives in the sky,” he said; “and that’s where Tony went. He must have flown straight to God, and I think God _ought_ to have sent him back,” his lips quivered again. “I’ve waited hours and hours,” he repeated mournfully. “God has got such a lot of things to do,” she said, “perhaps He will send him back to-morrow. Don’t you think you could wait till to-morrow, Launcelot?” “Why, really, Cynthia,” laughed her friend, “I can’t let you encourage the child in such notions. Now, look here, Launcelot, if you will be a good boy, and not worry any more, I’ll ask papa to buy you another Tony.” She was a good-natured woman, but she missed the point. “Oh, but there isn’t another Tony,” he said looking at his mother reproachfully; “there aren’t two mes nor two Gods, mama?”