“Ah, she remembered it,” said Macneillie with a smile. “That was very like Evereld. I would put off the performance if possible, but it is promised for three nights and it will be very difficult to manage anything else, specially as Ivy Grant is _hors de combat_, too, and her understudy such a novice. No, we will give the play; I have spent most of the night in company with the Danish prince and this evening he and I will patch up our ancient quarrel.” But Ralph was not to be borne down by these arguments, and at last Macneillie agreed to a compromise. The play had already been rehearsed for some time. Ralph should be excused from attendance that morning, and if all were well should play the part as arranged. “Now no more of this argle-bargle as we say in Scotland. To bed with you, or we shall have you breaking down this evening,” said Macneillie. “What? a letter you must write?” “Only to Mrs. Hereford, who you know had promised to house Evereld during her illness.” “I will see to it,” said Macneillie. “And you want this telegram to go to that nice old Irish body, the soldier’s widow? Well, leave them to me, and get along with you, do. Follow the excellent example of that son of yours, and spend your time in sleeping.” Ralph took the advice very literally and for the next eight hours slept profoundly. He was roused at last to a consciousness that someone was standing beside his bed, and looking up sleepily was vaguely astonished to see Bridget’s well-known face. Was he a boy again in Sir Matthew’s house? And was Bridget as usual coming in to rouse him that he might not incur his guardian’s wrath by being late for breakfast? His heavy eyelids drooped again, when he was suddenly startled back to full recollection by the sound of a wailing baby in the room below. “Why, that must be the boy,” he reflected. “And I am a family man,--and Sir Matthew has gone to Jericho! What news, Bridget?” he exclaimed anxiously. “How is my wife?” “She is doing nicely, sir, God bless her sweet soul! Your dinner is ready, Mr. Ralph, and after that, why you can be coming in to see mistress. She has had two good sleeps, thank God.” Bridget was in her element with the sole care of the little doll-like baby. “It’s exactly like you, sir, bless it,” she remarked when Ralph paused on his way to the theatre to take another look at his small son. “Well, really, Bridget! You can’t expect me to take that for a compliment,” he said laughing. “He has no eyes to speak of--just a couple of slits--and as for his face, it seems to be all nose, with just a little margin of pink puckers.” “Ah, it’s always the outsiders that can see the likeness,” said Bridget. “Look here upon this picture, and on this,” quoted Ralph merrily. “You will send me off to play Hamlet in a very humble and chastened mood, Bridget. I never thought I was quite so ugly.”