And the boy's biographer is inclined to think that he had rare powers of discrimination, for one day when Carmen had called and begged to be permitted to go up into the nursery, and had asked to take him in her arms just for a moment, notwithstanding her soft dress and her caressing manner, Fletcher had made a wry face and set up a howl. “How much he looks like his father” (he didn't look like anything), Carmen said, handing him over to the nurse. What she thought was that in manner and disposition he was totally unlike Jack Delancy. When they came down-stairs, Mrs. Schuyler Blunt was in the drawing-room. “I've had such a privilege, Mrs. Blunt, seeing the baby!” cried Carmen, in her sweetest manner. “It must have been,” that lady rejoined, stiffly. Carmen, who hated to be seen through, of all things, did not know whether to resent this or not. But Edith hastened to the rescue of her guest. “I think it's a privilege.” “And you know, Mrs. Blunt,” said Carmen, recovering herself and smiling, “that I must have some excitement this dull season.” “I see,” said Mrs. Blunt, with no relaxation of her manner; “we are all grateful to Mrs. Delancy.” “Mrs. Henderson does herself injustice,” Edith again interposed. “I can assure you she has a great talent for domesticity.” Carmen did not much fancy this apology for her, but she rejoined: “Yes, indeed. I'm going to cultivate it.” “How is this privileged person?” Mrs. Blunt asked. “You shall see,” said Edith. “I am glad you came, for I wanted very much to consult you. I was going to send for you.” “Well, here I am. But I didn't come about the baby. I wanted to consult you. We miss you, dear, every day.” And then Mrs. Blunt began to speak about some social and charitable arrangements, but stopped suddenly. “I'll see the baby first. Good-morning, Mrs. Henderson.” And she left the room. Carmen felt as much left out socially as about the baby, and she also rose to go. “Don't go,” said Edith. “What kind of a summer have you had?” “Oh, very good. Some shipwrecks.” “And Mr. Henderson? Is he well?” “Perfectly. He is away now. Husbands, you know, haven't so much talent for domesticity as we have.” “That depends,” Edith replied, simply, but with that spirit and air of breeding before which Carmen always inwardly felt defeat--“that depends very much upon ourselves.”