GEORGE. He’ll go at the end of the month and we shall be well rid of him. Mother will be delighted. I say, she hasn’t wired, has she? HENRIETTE. No. GEORGE. Then she’s not coming back till to-morrow. HENRIETTE. If she had her way, she would never leave our little girl. GEORGE. You’re not going to be jealous, are you? HENRIETTE. I’m a little anxious. Still, if there had been anything the matter, I know your mother would have telegraphed to us. GEORGE. We agreed that she should, if there was anything since yesterday. HENRIETTE. Perhaps after all we should have done better to keep baby with us. GEORGE. Oh, are you going to begin again? HENRIETTE. No, no. Don’t scold. I know the air of Paris didn’t suit her. GEORGE. You still think that the dust of my papers was better for her than the air of the country. HENRIETTE [_laughing_] No; I don’t. GEORGE. Of course, there is the square, with the smell of fried fish and all the soldiers. HENRIETTE. Don’t tease. I know you are right. GEORGE. Aha! I’m glad you admit that for once in a way. HENRIETTE. Besides, nurse takes good care of her. She is a good girl. GEORGE. And how proud she is to nurse the grand-daughter of her deputy. HENRIETTE. Father is not deputy for that district. All the same— GEORGE. All the same he is deputy for the department. HENRIETTE. Yes; he is. GEORGE. Can’t you hear her talking to her friends? [_Imitating the nurse’s voice_] ‘Haven’t I had a bit of luck, neither? Yes, ma’am; she’s our deputy’s daughter’s daughter, she is. She’s as fat as a calf, the little duck; and that clever with it, she understands everything. That’s not a bit of luck neither, isn’t it?’ HENRIETTE [_laughing_] You great silly! She doesn’t talk like that at all. GEORGE. Why not say at once that I can’t do imitations? HENRIETTE. Now I didn’t say that. GEORGE. As if mother would have engaged nurse for us if she had not been absolutely certain that baby would be well looked after. Besides, she goes down to see her every week, and she would have brought her back already— HENRIETTE. Twice a week sometimes. GEORGE. Yes. HENRIETTE. Ah, our little Germaine knows what it is to have a granny who dotes on her. GEORGE. Doesn’t she, though? HENRIETTE. Your mother is so good. You know I adore her, too. GEORGE. Runs in the family! HENRIETTE. Do you know, the last time we went down there with her—you had gone out somewhere or other— GEORGE. To see that old sixteenth century chest. HENRIETTE [_laughing_] Of course, your wonderful chest. GEORGE. Well, what were you going to say? HENRIETTE. You were out, and nurse had gone to mass, I think. GEORGE. Or to have a drink. Go on. HENRIETTE. I was in the little room, and your mother thought she was alone with Germaine. But I could hear her: she was telling baby all sorts of sweet little things—silly little things, but so sweet that I felt laughing and crying at the same moment. GEORGE. Didn’t she call her ‘my own little Saviour’?