He went down and busied himself, hours earlier than he need, making the fire, getting ready Dossie's breakfast and Baby's and his own. Foraging in the larder, he came upon a beefsteak pie that, evidently, Winny had made for him, as if in foreknowledge of his need. When he had washed up the breakfast things and the things that were left over from last night, he went upstairs and made his bed, clumsily. Then he went down again and tidied the sitting-room. In all this he was driven by his determination to leave nothing for Winny to do for him when she came. He went to and fro, with Dossie toddling after him and laughing. Upstairs, Baby laughed in his cot. And all the time, Ranny, with his obsession of bereavement and calamity, was unaware of the peace, the exquisite, the unimaginable peace that had settled upon Granville. * * * * * At half past eight Winny looked in (entering by the open door of Granville) to see what she could do. She found him in the bathroom, trying to wash Baby. He had put the little zinc bath with Baby in it inside the big one. "Whatever did you do that for, Ranny?" Winny asked, while her heart yearned to him. He said he had to. The little beggar splashed so. Good idea, wasn't it? Almost he had forgotten his bereavement. Winny shook her head. "Anyhow, I've washed him all right." "Yes," said she. "But you'll never dry him." "Why not?" "You can't. Not in here. There isn't room for you to set. Where's your chair and your flannel apron?" "Flannel apron?" "Yes. If you don't wear one you'll not get any hold on him. He'll slip between your knees before you know he's gone." "Not if I keep 'em together." "_Then_ there's no lap for him. What he wants is petticoats." (Petticoats? That was the secret, was it? He had tried to soap Baby, bit by bit, as he had seen Winny do, holding him, wrapped in a towel, on his knees--a disastrous failure. It was incredible how slippery he was.) "There's his blanket. I thought I'd dry him on the floor." "He'll catch his death of cold, Ranny, if you do. There, give him to me. We'll take him downstairs to the fire." He gave her the little naked, dripping body, and she wrapped it in the warm blanket and carried it downstairs. "You bring the towels and the powder puff, and all his vests and flannels and things," said Winny. He brought them. She established herself in the low chair by the fire downstairs. He played with Dossie as he watched her. And all the time, through all the play, his obscure instinct told him that she ought not to be there. It suggested that if he desired to preserve the integrity of the document, Winny and he must not be known to be alone in the house together.