His fingers closed upon it as he stepped from the car, gripped and closely held it. But he spoke not a word to her; only to Dot, whom he kissed immediately afterwards, to her confusion and Bertie's amusement. "I seem to have stumbled into a family gathering," he said later, when they gave him the place of honour between Mrs. Errol and his hostess. "Being one of the family, I guess it's a happy accident," said Mrs. Errol. He bowed to her elaborately. "Many thanks, alma mater! Considering the short time you have had for preparing a pretty speech of welcome it does you undoubted credit." "Oh, my, Nap!" she said. "I'm past making pretty speeches at my age. I just say what I mean." A gleam of surprise crossed his dark face. "That so, alma mater?" he said. "Then--considering all things--again thanks!" He turned from her to the baby sprawling on the rug at his feet, and lifted the youngster to his knee. "So this is the pride of the Errols now," he said. The baby stared up at him with serious eyes, and very deliberately and intently Nap stared back. "What is his name, Dot?" he asked at length. "Lucas Napoleon," she said. "Good heavens!" he ejaculated. "What an unholy combination! What in thunder possessed you to call him that?" "Oh, it wasn't my doing," Dot hastened to explain, with her usual honesty, "though of course I was delighted with the idea. Bertie and I called him Lucas almost before he was born." "Then who in wonder chose my name for him?" demanded Nap. "See the Church Catechism!" suggested Bertie. "Ah! Quite so." Nap turned upon him keenly. "Who were his god-parents?" "My dear Nap, what does it matter?" broke in Dot. "Be quiet, Bertie! For goodness' sake make him put the child down and have some tea." "Let me take him," Anne said. She stooped to lift the boy, who held out his arms to her with a crow of pleasure. Nap looked up at her, and for an instant only their eyes met; but in that instant understanding dawned upon Nap's face, and with it a strangely tender smile that made it almost gentle. Dot declared afterwards that the birthday-party had been all she could have desired. Everyone had been nice to everyone, and the baby hadn't been rude to his uncle, a calamity she had greatly feared. Also Nap was improved, hugely improved. Didn't Bertie think so? He seemed to have got so much more human. She couldn't realise there had ever been a time when she had actually disliked him. "P'r'aps we're more human ourselves," suggested Bertie; a notion which hadn't occurred to Dot but which she admitted might have something in it. Anyway, she was sure Nap had improved, and she longed to know if Anne thought so too. Anne's thoughts upon that subject, however, were known to none, perhaps not even to herself. All she knew was an overwhelming desire for solitude, but when this was hers at last it was not in the consideration of this question that she spent it.