He looked at me in astonishment for a moment.
"My dear old chap, for the baby."
"Oh, I see. That's awfully nice of you. He'll love it." I wondered if Simpson had ever seen a month-old baby. "What's its name?"
"I've been calling it Duncan in the train, but, of course, he will want to choose his own name for it."
"Well, you must talk it over with him to-night after the ladies have gone to bed. How about your luggage? We mustn't keep Myra waiting."
"Hallo, Thomas!" said Myra, as we came out. "Hallo, Samuel! Hooray!"
"Hallo, Myra!" said Thomas. "All right?"
"Myra, this is Duncan," said Simpson, and the shrill roar of the bear rang out once more.
Myra, her mouth firm, but smiles in her eyes, looked down lovingly at him. Sometimes I think that she would like to be Simpson's mother. Perhaps, when we are married, we might adopt him.
"For baby?" she said, stroking it with her whip. "But he won't be allowed to take it into church with him, you know. No, Thomas, I won't have the luggage next to me; I want some one to talk to. You come."