"I don't believe it's nothing. He's trying to settle things. This--what
it's all about--what he's got to do about it."

"It may be so, Your Grace. All babies are like that at first."

"His eyes are so old, so grave."

"He's a jolly little fellow, Your Grace."

"He's very little trouble, isn't he?"

"Less trouble than any baby I've ever had to do with. Got His Grace's
happy temperament, if I may say so."

"Yes," the mother laughed. She crossed over to the window and looked
down. "That poor woman singing down there. How awful! He'll be going
down to Crole very shortly, Roberts. Splendid air for him there. But the
Square's cheerful. He likes the garden, doesn't he?"

"Oh, yes, Your Grace; all the children and the fountain. But he's a
happy baby. I should say he'd like anything."

For a moment longer she looked down into the Square. The discordant
voice was giving "Annie Laurie" to the world.

"Good-bye, darling." She stepped forward, shook the silver and coral
rattle. "See what grannie's given you!" She left it lying near his
hand, and, with a little sigh, was gone.