Whilst he was thus engaged, his wife came in, Georgy in her arms, whom she was making believe to scold. The two-year-old boy, indulged, wilful, rather passionate, did just as he liked, and he had now chosen to pull his mamma's hair down. He was a loving, charming little fellow; and whatever there was of wilfulness in his conduct, was the fault of his mother's great indulgence. "Look at this dreadful little boy, papa!" she exclaimed, standing before her husband, her luxuriant hair, dark and shining as a gipsy's, flowing on to her light muslin dress. "See what he has done to poor mamma. Don't you think we must sell him to the old cobbler at Alnwick?" Mr. St. John looked up from his crowded desk, speaking half crossly. The interruption annoyed him. "How can you let him pull you about so, Charlotte? George, you want a whipping." She sat down, clasping the boy to her heart in an access of love. "Whipping for Georgy!" she fondly murmured in the child's ear. "No, no: Georgy pull mamma's hair down if he likes." But Honour could have told a tale to prove that she was not always so tolerant. Benja had once pulled her hair down in play--it was just after she came to the Hall--and she left the marks of her fingers on his face for it. It is true she seemed sorry afterwards, and soothed him when he cried: but she did it. Letting George sit on her knee, she did up her hair as well as she could. George laughed and chattered, and tried to pull it down again; altogether there was a great noise. Mr. St. John spoke. "I wish you'd take him away, Charlotte: I am very busy." "Busy! But I came to talk to you, George," she answered. "What about?" "Something that I want to do--something that I have been thinking of. Here, Georgy, amuse yourself with these, and be quiet," she said, taking up a small plate containing a bunch of grapes, which happened to be on the table, and giving it to the restless, romping child. "Eat them whilst I talk to papa." "Won't another time do, Charlotte?" "I shall not keep you a minute. Next week November will come in. And the 10th will be--do you remember what the 10th will be?" "Benja's birthday," said Mr. St. John, speaking without thought, his attention wholly given to the papers before him. You should have seen the change in her face--it wore an evil look just then. "And George's also!" The tone jarred on Mr. St. John's ear, and he raised his eyes quickly. "George's also, of course. What of it, Charlotte?" The angry emotion had raised a storm within her, and her breath was laboured. But she strove for self-control, and pressed her hand to her heart to still it. "You can think of Benja, you cannot think of Georgy! It is ever so." "Nay, you are mistaken," said Mr. St. John, warmly. "I think as much of one as I do of the other: _I love_ one as much as I do the other. If I answered you shortly, it is because I am busy."