"You mean, about the baby, sir? Of course she does. It's hers. Please
don't look so odd, sir. My word, sir, I didn't know you didn't know it,
sir. I wasn't told, was I, O'Brien? There, sir, you see! Mrs. Medcroft
said as I was to bring Tootles in to you, sir. She said--"

"Tootles?" murmured Brock. "Tootles and Raggles. I daresay there's a
distinction without much of a difference. Are you Burton?"

"Yes, Mr. Medcroft. The nurse. Won't you take baby for a minute, sir?
Just to get acquainted, and for appearance's sake." She whispered the
well-meant entreaty. Brock, now well into the spirit of the situation,
obligingly extended his arms. The baby set up a lusty howl of aversion.

"For God's sake, take him back to his mother!" groaned Brock hastily.
"He doesn't like strangers! Take him away!"

"It isn't a he, sir," whispered the maid, as the nurse prepared to beat
a hasty retreat with the Medcroft offspring. "It's a her, sir."

Brock's face was a study in perplexity as they hurried from the car.

"By George," he muttered, "what next!"

That which did come next was even more amazing than the unexpected
advent of Tootles. He barely had recovered his equanimity--with his
coffee--when a young lady entered the car. That, of itself, was not much
to speak of, but what followed was something that not even he could have
dreamed of if he had been given the chance. He afterward recalled, in
some distress of mind, that his second quick glance at the newcomer
developed into little less than a rude stare of admiration. Small