Celia followed her into the little sitting-room. It was a tiny place, but it was scrupulously clean and neat. Susie placed a chair for the visitor, and stood, with her baby pressed close to her, her eyes downcast. Her girlish face, pretty, notwithstanding the lines and hollows graved by sorrow, was like a mask in its impassivity. It was as if she were saying, "You have come, but I did not ask you to do so; I do not want you. I have all I want here, lying on my bosom." "Let me have him for a moment," begged Celia, who, young as she was, comprehended the girl's feelings. "How sweet he looks!" she exclaimed, as she took the child and kissed it. The mother's face twitched as she noted the kiss, and her eyes softened a little. "He is very good," she said, as if she were speaking to herself rather than to Celia. "He is never any trouble; he is very healthy." "He looks like a strong little cherub," said Celia, touching, with a forefinger as light as a feather, the dimple on the child's chin; "and, of course, he isn't any trouble. And you wouldn't think he was, if he were, would you? What is his name?" Susie turned away to set a vase straight. "He hasn't any name," she said, not suddenly, but in a dull, toneless voice. "He hasn't been christened yet." "Oh, but you must have him christened," said Celia, speaking lightly, to conceal the embarrassment of the subject. "Haven't you decided on a name for him yet?" Susie shook her head. "What does it matter?" she asked, in a whisper. Celia fought the growing embarrassment womanfully. "Oh, I think it matters a great deal," she responded, in the same light tone. "If I had a beautiful boy like this, I should like him to have a nice name--a manly name. But, of course, you've thought of one?" Susie shook her head again. "No? Will you think me very--well, cheeky--if I suggest some? Now, let me see! He is fair, isn't he? Some names are appropriate to fair men, while others are more suitable to dark ones, don't you think so?" She laughed; but there was no smile in Susie's eyes, as she turned and looked, moodily, at the baby, one of whose chubby hands was clasping Celia's finger. "Let's think of some names," said Celia. "James! I don't like that, do you? Richard; no, that's a dark name. Percy; how would that do?" It was almost impossible for the pale face to grow paler, and yet, for a moment, as the blue eyes fixed themselves on Celia, Susie's pallor increased. Her arms went out as if she were about to take the child; but Celia looking up, smiled beseechingly. "Oh, let me have him a little longer," she pleaded. "You have him all the time, you know. Let me see, what was the last name--Percy! Do you like it?" With an effort, Susie said, slowly, and in almost a whisper: "My--my father's name was Gerald:--will--will that do?" "Oh, the very thing!" cried Celia, earnestly. "Gerald. Of course, you will call him after his grandfather. Do decide on that, Mrs.--Morton," she added, with a sudden nervousness.