"My sonnet? Not I! I've been basking in the Duchess's smiles and wearing my new frocks. She asked after you; she didn't know you'd got back. I put on this new one to show you, Marjorie." "You look very silvery and cloudy," Marjorie said. "It suits you, but it wouldn't stand much work." "Neither should I. Oh, Marjorie--hateful word! Don't distil Mrs. Lytchett. I was forgetting Mr. Pelham. He sings divinely--a sort of baritony tenor, that floats, and melts--I can't describe it. What stupids we've all been about him!" "How?" "Thinking him so deep down in Blackton smoke. He knew all the people at Oldstead. Blackton seems the fashion there, like an East-End. It was too silly having to be introduced, when he lives on the other side of the road. He seemed to know you, Marjorie." "Yes--I went there." "You went there? To call?" "To apologise, as usual," laughing; "the boys had been in mischief." "Why, he said what jolly boys they were, and that his baby was quite happy with them; and he was so glad she should have some companions. I thought he little knew.' "Yes--he forgave them." Her visitor laughed. "Now, Marjorie, don't be so hoity-toity. Why did you go if you didn't want to be forgiven?" "Why? To save father bother." Unconsciously, the young voice took a pathetic tone. "Do you think we would have demeaned ourselves otherwise?" There was the sound of the clatter of voices. Marjorie sprang up to try and stop an excursion into the drawing-room. Her friend leant back in her chair, and looked after her. "If Marjorie were well-dressed," she thought, "she'd be a beauty. That girl they were fussing after isn't in with her--only she's got clothes; clothes mean so much. Why, Sandy, what have you got there?" Sandy panted to her side, both his arms laden with a baby. She did not appear to mind her uncomfortable position; but when deposited upon Charity's lap, bent her brows in a scowl, as she studied Miss Francklin's dainty finery. "It's the baby from 'The Ridges'--she's got a name a mile long; we call her Barbe. We found her, so we brought her. We wanted a girl down here." "You don't mean," said Marjorie, overhearing, and turning to David, "that you've brought her without leave? Oh, David!" "She was sittin' in her carriage, all silks and satins, and we saw the nurse's petticoats whisk in; so we just ran the pram down the hill, and left it inside the gate. That nurse finks a deal too much of herself," explained Sandy. "You'll have to go this very minute and say where she is," said Marjorie. "Go, David, both of you--run!" she urged, remembrance coming of the father's face as he looked at his child. "I'll go with you," Charity exclaimed good-naturedly, springing up. "Come, boys--hadn't we better take her back with us, Marjorie?" "Perhaps you had," said Marjorie. "But why should you trouble?" "It's no trouble. I wanted to go to the Green, and I am ready."