He smiled, half-allured, half-repelled by the idea of strutting among such gay birds. To refuse the spotless lady’s request downright was an act of discourtesy of which he was incapable. He gave a vague and qualified assent to the proposal, which she did not then tempt him to make more definite. Content with her progress, she bided her time. Quixtus had little leisure to reflect on the sceptical attitude towards humanity which, theoretically, he still maintained. In addition to all these hour-absorbing interests, Sheila began to occupy a considerable place in his life. Sometimes he would call at Romney Place; sometimes Clementina would bring the child to Russell Square; sometimes, when Clementina was too busy, Sheila came in the nurse’s charge. He cleared out a large room at the top of the house, which was to be Sheila’s nursery when she took up her quarters there. It needed re-papering, re-carpeting, re-furnishing, he decided. Nothing like cheerful surroundings for impressionable childhood. With this in view, he carried off Sheila one day to a firm of wall-paper dealers, so that she could choose a pattern for herself. Sheila sat solemnly on the sofa by his side while the polite assistant turned over great strips of paper. At last she decided. A bewildering number of parrots to the square yard, all with red bodies and blue tails, darting about among green foliage on which pink roses grew miraculously, was the chosen design. Quixtus hesitated; but Sheila was firm. They proudly took home a strip to try against the wall. Clementina, hearing from Sheila of her exploit, rushed up the next afternoon to Russell Square, and blinked her eyes before the dazzling thing. “It’s only you, Ephraim, that could have taken a child of five to select wall-papers.” “I will own that the result is disastrous,” he said, ruefully. “But she set her heart upon it.” She sighed. “You’re two babies together. I see I’ve got to fix up that nursery myself.” She looked at him with a woman’s delicious pity. What could a lone man know of the fitting up of nurseries? “You hear what your auntie says?” he asked—the child was sitting on his knee. “We’re in disgrace.” “If you’re in disgrace you go in the corner,” said Sheila. “Let us go in the corner, then.” “If you hold me very tight,” said Sheila. But Clementina came up and forgave them, and kissed the little face peeping over Quixtus’s shoulder. “It does my heart good to see you with her,” she cried, with rare demonstrativeness.