"Not a bad kid?" said a voice behind me.
I turned and saw Archie.
"Yours, I believe," I said, and I waved him to the cradle.
Archie bent down and tickled the baby's chin, making appropriate noises the while—one of the things a father has to learn to do.
"Who do you think he's like?" he asked proudly.
"The late Mr. Gladstone," I said, after deep thought.
"Wrong. Hallo, here's Dahlia coming out. I hope, for your sake, that the baby's all right. If she finds he's caught measles or anything, you'll get into trouble."
By a stroke of bad luck the child began to cry as soon as he saw the ladies. Myra rushed up to him.
"Poor little darling," she said soothingly. "Did his uncle by marriage frighten him, then?"
"Don't listen to her, Dahlia," I said. "I haven't done anything to him. We were chatting together quite amicably until he suddenly caught sight of Myra and burst into tears."