I'll show it to you when we go in--the last one for the time being. I
get a new one about every other mail, in all sorts of get-up, clothes
and no clothes; but all as fat as butter, and grinning from ear to ear
with the joy of life. You never saw such a fetching little cuss. I'd
give anything to get hold of him--if I could."

"But surely--his own father--"

"No. It sounds absurd to you, naturally; but that's because you don't
understand the situation."

"I can't conceive of any situation--"

"Of course not. It's a preposterous situation. And I just drifted into
it--I don't know how. Oh, I do know--it was for the child's own sake;
so that you really mustn't call me a heartless parent any more, Miss
Urquhart. Nobody would do that who knew what I'd suffered for him." Mr
Carey made a gesture, and sighed deeply. "Even in the beginning it
would have been difficult to get out of it, having once got in," he
continued, after a pause; "but it has been going on so long, getting
worse and worse every day and every hour, till now I'm all tangled up
like that moth in that spider's web"--pointing to a little insect
tragedy going on beside them.

Miss Urquhart leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees, and
spreading her hands in the enchanting moonlight, which made them look
white as pearls--and made her rather worn face look as if finely
carved in ivory. It was a graceful, thoughtful, confidential pose, and
her eyes, uplifted, soft and kind, gleamed just under his eyes.