There isn't so much scope for talent in a pair of trousers as in a mass of dainty petticoats, and presently Bertie grows tired, flings himself down upon the ground, and lets the dog tumble over him there. The joust is virtually at an end.
Lady Baltimore, who has stood immoveable during the attack upon her, always with that cold, white, beautiful look upon her face, now points to the stricken child lying panting, laughing, and playing with the dog at his father's feet.
"There is a reason!" says she, almost inaudibly.
Baltimore shakes his head. "I have thought all that out. It is not enough," says he.
"Bertie!" says his mother, turning to the child. "Do you know this, that your father is going to leave you?"
"Going?" says the boy vaguely, forgetting the dog for a moment and glancing upward. "Where?"
"Away. Forever."
"Where?" says the boy again. He rises to his feet now, and looks anxiously at his father; then he smiles and flings himself into his arms. "Oh, no!" says he, in a little soft, happy, sure sort of a way.
"Forever! Forever!" repeals Isabel in a curious monotone.
"Take me up," says the child, tugging at his father's arms. "What does mamma mean? Where are you going?"