"I brought him a rattle, Jane, dear," said Mrs. Tunster, shaking in the
air a thing of coral and silver. "He's got several, of course, but I
guess you'll go a long way before you find anything cuter."

"It's too pretty," said Lady Emily.

"Too lovely," said the Hon. Mrs. Vavasour.

The Duchess looked down upon her son. "Isn't he old?" she said.
"Thousands of years. You'd think he was laughing at the lot of us."

Mrs. Tunster shook her head. "Now don't you go imagining things, Jane,
my dear. I used to be just like that, and your father would say, 'Now,
Alice.'"

Her Grace raised her head. Her eyes were a little tired. She looked from
her son to the clouds, and then back again to her son. She was
remembering her own early days, the rich glowing colour of her own
American country, the freedom, the space, the honesty.

"I guess you're tired, dear," said her mother. "With the party to-night
and all. Why don't you go and rest a bit?"

"His eyes _are_ old! He _does_ despise us all."

Lady Emily, who believed in personal comfort and as little thinking as
possible, put her arm through her friend's.

"Come along and give us some tea. He's a dear. Good-bye, you little