Dick went off on a cruise, and Beatrix came to stay at Abington. She came for a few days to Caroline, and then moved down to the Abbey to be with her father when he came home at the end of the week.

Caroline thought her more lovely than ever. She was radiantly happy at the thought of her child coming, but rather quieter than she had been wont to be, though at times she showed all her exuberant high spirits.

She and Maurice got on very well together, but Caroline knew, and he also probably knew, that she did not take much interest in him. She was bright and friendly with him when he was there, but when he wasn't she seldom mentioned him. But she clung to Caroline. She had to come to her, she told her. Even if Dick hadn't been obliged to go off, she would have left him and come. Or perhaps she would have asked Caroline to come to her. Here she laughed. "I'm more in love with him than ever," she said, "and I can't bear to be parted from him. But I want you too, darling, awfully. I do miss you, and I wish we lived nearer to each other."

So she would have flown to her mother at this time. Caroline felt very tenderly towards her. She was such a child, in spite of her approaching motherhood. Maurice was touched, too, by her dependence upon Caroline. Caroline told her some of the things he had said about her, and she said: "He's an awful dear, Cara," and then went on to talk about Dick.

They talked a great deal also of their father. Beatrix was inclined to Lady Grafton's views, which had been imparted to her as well as to Caroline. "The idea was rather a shock at first," she said. "But when I came to think it over I thought it would be rather hard lines on the old darling not to be pleased about it, if it happens. He's not so frightfully much older than Dick. If Dick had been married at eighteen, as one of his shipmates was, we were reckoning it out that he might have a daughter of fourteen now, and she'd only be two years younger than Bunting."

Caroline laughed. "I don't quite see what that has to do with it," she said.

"Oh, I do. What I mean is that because he's our dear old Daddy, we don't think of him as somebody who ought to be falling in love at his time of life. But I don't see why he shouldn't. And he's a million times better-looking than heaps of young men. If he were on the stage lots of silly girls would be in love with him."

Caroline laughed again. "I've got over all that feeling, if I ever had it," she said. "And Ella has been married before. She has been like a girl with us, but she's older in a great many ways. I suppose it would be suitable enough."

"Oh, I think so. And it would be more fun for the old darling to marry somebody he was in love with, than just to marry again—somebody like the Dragon, perhaps—just because we have got married and he feels rather lonely. Aunt Mary says that it isn't fair to expect him just to sit down by himself and think of us and our babies. He has as much life in him as anybody else, and he has given us the best part of it. Now we've left him he ought to have a chance on his own account. I don't look at it quite like that, but—"

"I'm sure he doesn't," Caroline interrupted her. "He has been the dearest father to us that anybody could have had, but we have made him happy, too. It isn't as if he had sacrificed himself."

"That's what I told her, and she said the sacrifice would begin now, if we didn't do all we could to help this on. What does Ella think about it, Cara? You ought to have found out by this time. I'm not sure I shan't ask her when I see her."

"You won't want to when you do see her. She is just the same—towards him and towards us. I think she always will be. That's why I sometimes think that it would be rather nice if it did happen—nice for us, I mean, as well as for Dad."

"That's what I have come to think, too, with Aunt Mary to assist me. What she says is that if there were a question of his marrying somebody of what would be called a suitable age we should probably be glad of it, as we shouldn't have to bother ourselves about Dad when we simply wanted to be selfish with our own homes and husbands."

"Yes, that's the sort of thing that Aunt Mary would say."

"But what we really object to is his having the sort of happiness we have got for ourselves. Because he wouldn't get any of it from us."

"There is generally a spice of truth in Aunt Mary's sharp speeches, which is worth looking out for. You haven't told me what Dick says about it."

"Oh, Dick takes the man's point of view, of course. Man remains a lovable creature till he's about seventy, or eighty or ninety. A woman has to leave off expecting to be loved when she's about thirty. He says Dad is as young as anybody, and he can't see what all the fuss is about."

"I don't know that there is any fuss. Except with poor darling Barbara. She hates it."

"Poor lamb! Of course she was looking forward to having her innings, with both of us married."

"She has never liked Ella as much as we have."

"I haven't noticed much difference. Of course she's jealous of her now. But that would calm down. I should like Dad to have some more children. He'd be awfully sweet to them. Fancy! They'd be younger than mine."

Beatrix then went on to talk about her baby that was coming.

Barbara wrote to Bunting. He was to tell her what he thought. She should not object, she added, to hear Jimmy's view on the subject. Bunting was to tell Jimmy that she had thought over all he had said to her, and beyond a slight interest in a man who gave tickets for umbrellas at the Luxembourg Gallery, which she had subdued, she had behaved exactly as he would have wished since she had been back in Paris.

Young George imparted this piece of information first, as he and Jimmy took a Sunday afternoon walk together. "She did have you on," he said. "You have to keep your eyes skinned when Barbara begins to pull your leg."

"I can't say I care for that sort of thing much myself," said Jimmy. "Still, you must take people as you find them. If Barbara finds it amusing to play the fool in that way, I don't much mind. She is growing up into a very nice sort of girl and one can forgive her a few antics. I say, George, I shall have Feltham some day, and be fairly well off, I suppose. I don't suppose your Governor would object, would he, if anything were to come of it between Barbara and me?"

"Anything were to come of what?" asked Bunting.

"Oh, well, I should have thought you could have seen that Barbara is a good deal more to me than other girls. Of course I chaff her, and treat her in some ways as a kid, but—"

"I should have thought that was how she treated you."

"Well, it's our way of treating each other. I don't suppose she thinks of me as a kid any more than I do of her. I don't go as far as to say that she's gone on me, or anything of that sort. She's too young at present to be gone on anybody, however much she may lark and rot about it. And I haven't done anything to make her yet. I'm only asking you, supposing it took me that way, and I was serious about it, I might be the sort of fellow your Governor wouldn't mind Barbara marrying?"

"I should think he'd be half off his head with delight," said Young George. "I say, Jimmy, there's something I want to consult you about. Barbara has written to me about it, and she says I can."

"I shall be pleased to give you my advice, George. Her, too, if she wants it. How did she—er—put it—that she wanted it."

"Oh, she said: 'I don't mind your telling that little ass, Jimmy, and see what he thinks,' or something of that sort. She didn't mean anything by it."

"Oh, no. I don't mind. It's the way we treat each other. Well, what's the trouble, old man?"

Young George told him.

"Ah," said Jimmy sapiently. "I've been wondering how long it would be before you tumbled to that. It's the talk of the county."

"Do you mean that, or is it only swank because you always see everything—generally before it happens?"

"My dear chap, I can only tell you your Governor went out for a walk with her the moment after Caroline had gone away, and fixed it up then. If you don't believe me, ask him."

"Oh, that's rot. Caroline was married over two months ago. If he had fixed it up then we should have known about it by this time."

"They agreed to keep it to themselves for a bit. You'll hear soon enough."

"Did my Governor tell you that, or Ella Carruthers?"

"There's no need to play the ass, George. Everybody knows it's settled. Vera mentioned it in the last letter she wrote to me. Mrs. Carruthers has gone up to London, to be near your Governor. He's working rather hard at present, and can't be at Abington as much as he was."

Young George knew that his father was rather tied to the Bank, as two of his partners were away. Jimmy's knowledge of this fact impressed him. "Is she keen on him?" he asked.

"Thinks about nobody else."

"How can you possibly know that? I wish you'd chuck pretending to be God Almighty, and just be little Jimmy Beckley. Barbara wants to know what we think, and what's really happening."

"Well, she's come to the right quarter then. I haven't said anything before, because I didn't know you'd tumbled to it. But I do know more about it than most. There's a cousin of ours who is dead keen on her, and she won't look at him."

"Who is he?"

"He's Sir John Ambleside—on my mother's side of the family. He's in the Scots Guards, and has just come back from India, where he's been A.D.C. to some Governor fellow. He hasn't got much money, so of course all our lot are rather keen on it, as she's supposed to have a good deal. But, as I say, she won't look at him, because of your Governor."

"Is he young?"

"About thirty. Good-looking chap too. It'd be a good match for both of them. There'd be his title against her money. But there it is. He hasn't got a chance. I'm not sorry for it myself, as I've an idea of nobbling him for Vera. She's getting on—twenty-two next birthday, and it's time she was settled. I'm going to get my people to ask him down at Easter, when I shall be at home and can look after things. I hope it will all be settled with your Governor by that time."

"I don't think Barbara knows it has gone as far as that," said Young George reflectively. "She only says she thinks it may happen, though Caroline doesn't. She won't be pleased when I tell her what you've told me."

"Why not?"

"Oh, well, I suppose she wouldn't be. Now Caroline and B are married she wants to be Number One with the Governor."

"Poor little girl!" said Jimmy tenderly. "I call that rather touching, you know, George. We ought to try and make it up to her, if it does happen—not let her feel herself out of it. I'm sure I'll do all I can to show her that she's still thought a great deal of."

"I'm sure you will," said Young George. "But you won't find she'll want much of you if she can have the Governor."

"That sort of feeling changes when girls grow up," said Jimmy. "Their Governors don't stand much of a chance when the right chap comes along. I will say for your Governor, though, that he knows how to make himself pleasant to younger people, men as well as girls. There's nobody of his age I like better to have a yarn with. I'm not a bit surprised at a woman like Mrs. Carruthers falling in love with him."

"You think it would be a good thing, then?"

"A good thing? Of course it would be a good thing. Don't you think so yourself?"

"Oh, I don't know. I like her all right. Rather rum to have her as a sort of mother, though."

"Nobody thinks anything of that now-a-days. She'd be more like a sort of sister. I must say I shouldn't mind having her about the place, if it was me. She's a very fine woman. I spotted her three seasons ago, when she first began to hunt again after Carruthers died. If I hadn't felt myself a bit tied up with Kate Pemberton then, I think I might have tried to make myself pleasant to her. Well, I always have made myself pleasant to her. I think she likes me all right. If she marries your Governor we shall be pretty near neighbours."

"Well, I hope you won't try to cut him out, if he wants to marry her. I don't quite know what to think about it. I shall tell Barbara that it would be a good thing."

"Yes, I should, if I were you. And you can tell her that I'm all in favour of it, as she has asked what I think."

"Thanks, I will," said Young George. "That ought to settle her mind, if anything can. I say, I haven't told you. B's going to have a baby."

"By Jove!" said Jimmy. "It seems no time since B was almost a kid. Makes you feel you're getting on, that sort of thing, eh? Poor little girl! I suppose she's pleased enough about it though, isn't she? They generally are."

"Oh, yes, she's pleased enough."

"Made up her mind it's going to be a boy, of course."

"Well, she does want it to be a boy. How did you know that?"

"They always want a boy—so that he shall be like hubby, I suppose. B had it pretty bad, you know. Nobody could get a word out of her when she was in love with Dick. That was a good business all round, George. You and I can congratulate ourselves on that."

"Why you and I?"

"Well, you asked my advice about it, didn't you? I told you what I thought. I suppose we had something to do with bringing it off. I wish we'd looked after Caroline a bit more. I don't like to think of a girl like that married to a chap like Bradby. I take your word for it that he's a good chap in himself, but Caroline is wasted on him all the same. She might have married anybody."

"She didn't want to marry anybody. She wanted to marry him, and it has turned out a great success. You'll say so yourself when you see them together."

"Ah, that's all very well at present. It hasn't had time to wear off yet. It's done now and can't be helped; but you see if she doesn't wish she'd not done it in a few years' time. There'll be B in her jolly country house, with all she can want; and Barbara, perhaps—well, I know a pretty decent country house that she can have by and bye, if she wants to. And Caroline—well, really, you know, it makes you feel rather sick. Poor girl! However, I don't altogether blame her for chucking herself away, if she was in love. I'd do it myself. But I dare say I should live to be sorry for it, if I married beneath me."