Austin said as they reached the nursery door: "Funny thing, feminine vanity--almost pathetic, isn't it? . . . Don't make too much noise! . . . What do you think of that pair of legs, Phil?--and he's not yet five. . . . And I want you to speak frankly; _did_ you ever see anything to beat that bunch of infants? Not because they're ours and we happen to be your own people--" he checked himself and the smile faded as he laid his big ruddy hand on Selwyn's shoulder;--"_your own people_, Phil. Do you understand? . . . And if I have not ventured to say anything about--what has happened--you understand that, too, don't you? You know I'm just as loyal to you as Nina is--as it is natural and fitting that your own people should be. Only a man finds it difficult to convey his--his--" "Don't say 'sympathies'!" cut in Selwyn nervously. "I wasn't going to, confound you! I was going to say 'sentiments.' I'm sorry I said anything. Go to the deuce!" Selwyn did not even deign to glance around at him. "You big red-pepper box," he muttered affectionately, "you'll wake up Drina. Look at her in her cunning pajamas! Oh, but she is a darling, Austin. And look at that boy with his two white bears! He's a corker! He's a wonder--honestly, Austin. As for that Josephine kid she can have me on demand; I'll answer to voice, whistle, or hand. . . . I say, ought we to go away and leave Winthrop's thumb in his mouth?" "I guess I can get it out without waking him," whispered Gerard. A moment later he accomplished the office, leaned down and drew the bed-covers closer to Tina's dimpled chin, then grasped Selwyn above the elbow in sudden alarm: "If that trained terror, Miss Paisely, finds us in here when she comes from dinner, we'll both catch it! Come on; I'll turn off the light. Anyway, we ought to have been dressed long ago; but you insisted on butting in here." In the hallway below they encountered a radiant and bewildering vision awaiting them: Eileen, in all her glory. "Wonderful!" said Gerard, patting the vision's rounded bare arm as he hurried past--"fine gown! fine girl!--but I've got to dress and so has Philip--" He meant well. "_Do_ you like it, Captain Selwyn?" asked the girl, turning to confront him, where he had halted. "Gerald isn't coming and--I thought perhaps you'd be interested--" The formal, half-patronising compliment on his tongue's tip remained there, unsaid. He stood silent, touched by the faint under-ringing wistfulness in the laughing voice that challenged his opinion; and something within him responded in time: "Your gown is a beauty; such wonderful lace. Of course, anybody would know it came straight from Paris or from some other celestial region--" "But it didn't!" cried the girl, delighted. "It looks it, doesn't it? But it was made by Letellier! Is there anything you don't like about it, Captain Selwyn? _Anything_?"