There had been a good deal of fuss—as the duke said, who made more fuss than any one else—over the birth of the son and heir; but this child, the first girl, was hailed as if she were the most wonderful production the world had ever seen, and Lucy was regarded with boundless envy because she was chosen as godmother.
But the day before the christening Leslie received a magnificent set of pearls, inclosed in a box of white ivory, inside which was a slip of paper, bearing, in Lady Eleanor's handwriting, this inscription:
"To my godchild, Leslie Eleanor Auchester."
Yorke was amazed and bewildered, but Leslie understood in an instant.
"What does it mean?" he demanded, staring at her, and almost letting the casket drop.
"It means that she is going to transfer her love to our—no, your—little one, Yorke," she said. "Oh, don't you see? And we thought she hated us!"
She caught up her baby and kissed it, and laughed and cried over it, in her joy and thankfulness, for every time she had met Lady Eleanor her tender heart had ached. But now this little mite had removed the only thorn in Leslie's bed of roses.
"Yes, she shall have her," she said.
"Eh?" exclaimed Yorke, staring. "What! Altogether? I say!"
"Oh, not altogether!" said Leslie, with a little gasp, and clutching her baby tighter. "No, not altogether, but—but nearly! Oh, Yorke, Yorke, my cup of happiness is full now. Quite, quite full!"