would turn a rosy all-commanding face to her and answer:

‘But, mother, I want him to play with me. You must play with me!’ Then, as the mother would look at him, he would say quickly, and with genuine heartiness too:

‘Oh please, madam, do let her play with me! Come, Pearl, shall you ride a cock-horse or go to market the way the gentleman rides?’ Then the child would spring on his knee with a cry of delight, and their games began.

The presence of the child and her loving ways were unutterably sweet to Harold; but his pleasure was always followed by a pain that rent him as he thought of that other little one, now so far away, and of those times that seemed so long since gone.

But the child never