Sir Denzil came across and looked down on the jerking little arms and legs and twisting faces, and snuffed again as though he thought they might be infectious. For all the expression that showed in his face, they might have been a litter of pups. "Well, I am ----!" said Dr. Yool, at last, straightening up from the inspection with his hands on his hips. "Now"--fixing the two women with a blazing eye--"what's the meaning of it all? Who is the father of this other child?" "Denzil Carron," said Nance boldly, speaking for the first time. "He married me before he married her, and here are my lines," and she plucked them out of her bosom. Dr. Yool's eyebrows went up half an inch. Sir Denzil took snuff very deliberately. The doctor held out his hand for the paper, and after a moment's hesitation Nance handed it to him. He read it carefully, and his good-humoured mouth twisted doubtfully. The matter looked serious. "Dress the children and take them away," he said at last. When they were dressed, however, Nance stood waiting for her lines. Dr. Yool understood. "I will be answerable for them," he said; and she turned and went. "A troublesome business, Sir Denzil," he said, when they were alone. "A troublesome business, whichever way you look at it. This"--and he flicked Nance's cherished lines--"may, of course, be make-believe, though it looks genuine enough on the face of it. That must be carefully looked into. But as to the children--you are in these women's hands absolutely and completely, and they know it." "It looks deucedly like it." "They know which is which well enough; but nothing on earth will make them speak--except their own interests, and that," he said thoughtfully, "won't be for another twenty years." "It's too late to make away with them both, I suppose," said Sir Denzil cynically. "Tchutt! It's bad enough as it is, but there's no noose in it at present. Besides, they are both undoubtedly your grandsons----" "And which succeeds?" asked the baronet grimly. "There's the rub. Deucedly awkward, if they both live--most deucedly awkward! There's always the chance, of course, that one may die." "Not a chance," said Sir Denzil. "They'll both live to be a hundred. They can toss for the title when the time comes. I'd sooner trust a coin than those women's oaths." The doctor nodded. He felt the same. "What about this?" he asked, reading Nance's lines again. "Will you look into it?" He pulled out a pencil and noted places and dates in his pocket-book. "What good? It alters nothing." "As regards your son?" Sir Denzil shrugged lightly. "He has shown himself a fool, but he is hardly such a fool as that. If he comes to the title, and she claims on him, he must fight his own battle. As to the whelps----" Another shrug shelved them for future consideration.