'Lull-a-by, sweet, Rock-a-by, sleep, Heed not the rain and the wind, dear, Watch o'er her sweet Mother will keep, And up in the sky there is God, dear.' Some one opened the front door, and the sound of the rain grew louder, then the dining-room handle was turned. Dot gave a little whispered cry of surprise. 'Larrie!' she said, but so softly that baby's hand never stirred. It was hours before his usual time, and never before had he shortened his voluntarily imposed exile. She noticed how exceedingly wet he was, there was not a dry thread upon him, the water was even now pouring off him and making a pool on the floor. Then she saw the white passion on his face, the terrible look of his lips, his eyes. She laid the child down on the sofa cushions and went towards him slowly, and with fading colour. What dreadful thing was coming? 'Larrie!' she said, a frightened tremble in her voice, as she put out her hands to touch him. But the anger in his eyes deepened. He went closer to her, he actually grasped her roughly by the shoulders and shook her. 'How _dared_ you?' he said. 'How dared you?' She looked at him with parted lips and widening eyes. She could find nothing to say so intense was her amaze. 'How dared you?' he repeated. He shook her again to hasten her answer. But she only said 'I think you're mad,' and caught her breath. He saw he was wetting the shoulders of her pretty pink tea-gown with his coat and took his hands away. The genuine surprise on her face disarmed him a little, it even occurred to him for the first time that he might have the inexpressible relief of finding he was mistaken. His eyes grew a shade quieter and he did not speak for a minute. In the brief interval wifely concern appeared on Dot's face. She put her hand on his wet sleeve and tried to move him towards the hall. 'Come and get dry things,' she said, '_how_ wet you are!' But he would not stir. 'I want to speak to you,' he said. 'When you are dry,' urged Dot, 'it can wait three minutes.' He sat down on a chair. 'Now,' he said. She sat down, too, just on the edge of the sofa by the sleeping child. She was concerned because a fly would hover round its face and distract her attention. 'I went to Bayley's this morning to get some notepaper printed,' Larrie said, and paused. But Dot seemed to find nothing very remarkable in that, and looked merely attentive. 'There was a proof of _that_ on the counter,' he continued, and threw a sheet of old English printing on pale green paper towards her. She started up, vexation on her face. 'Oh _what_ a shame!' she cried. She read it through standing up, and the knowledge that all the colours were straightway rubbed out of her beautiful picture, made two curves of disappointment show at her mouth corners. 'Then it _is_ your name?' said Larrie, and his voice sounded positively faint.