Mrs. St. John was silent for a few moments, apparently playing with the child's pretty curls. When she spoke, all temper appeared to have been subdued, and she was cordial again. "I want to keep their birthday, George." "With all my heart." "But to keep it grandly, I mean: something that will be remembered. We will have an outdoor _fête_----" "An outdoor _fête!_" was the surprised and involuntary interruption. "Yes; why not? Similar to the one you gave three years ago. Ah, George! don't you remember it, and what you asked me then? We have never had one since." "But that was in September; this will be November--too late for that sort of thing." "Not too late if this fine weather lasts. It-is lovely yet." "The chances are that it will not last." "It may. At any rate, George, if it does not, we must entertain the crowd indoors instead of out. But I have set my heart on keeping this day." "Very well: I have not the least objection." "And now, George, shall we invite----" "If you will kindly leave me alone for half-an-hour, Charlotte, I shall have done what I am about, and will talk it over with you as much as you please," he interrupted. "I expect the steward in every minute, and am not ready for him." "We'll go then, Georgy, and leave papa alone. Make haste." The "make haste" applied to eating the grapes, which Master Georgy was already accomplishing with tolerable speed. Mrs. St. John, her arm round him, held the plate on his little knees; the other hand was still wandering amidst his hair. A charming picture! The child's generally bright complexion looked very bright today; the fair skin white as snow, the cheeks a lovely rose colour. It might have been taken for paint; and the thought seemed to strike Mrs. St. John. "If he could only sell that," she said to her husband, as she pointed to the bloom; "how many women there are who would give a fortune for it!" "I would rather see him like Benja, though," was the prompt and prosaic answer. "That rose-red has been found a fatal sign before now in the St. Johns of Alnwick." "You have it yourself," said Mrs. St. John. "Something like it, I believe." "Then, how can you say it is fatal? You--you--don't mean anything, surely, George?" George St. John laughed out merrily; a reassuring laugh. "Not as to him, at least, Charlotte, He is a healthy little fellow--as I hope and believe." Georgy made an end of the grapes, and, by way of _finale_, tossed the plate up. Mrs. St. John caught it, so there was no damage done. Putting him down, he ran up to his papa, eager to see whether there was anything else on the table, either to eat or to play with. His mamma took his hand, and was rewarded with a cry and a stamp. "You have been writing to Isaac St. John?" she exclaimed, her eyes falling on the letter that lay there. "Do you correspond with him?" "Not often." "Why have you been writing to him now?" "Only to ask him a question."