He crept to his father, still with that earnest, half-fearful expression in his eyes.
“Doesn’t she know, Daddie?” he whispered, and [167] ]thought he had made his voice very small and soft. But lusty little Alf’s whisper!
His father frowned him from the room, and he moved to go in instant, frightened haste, holding his knickerbockers up as he went.
“He can’t go without his braces,” said the voice from the sofa; “come here, Alf.”
The child moved back to her and stood nervously still while she fastened the little straps in place.
“There,” she said, “now go and play, and don’t get your clean coat dirtied, and don’t let me hear you quarrelling with Richie, and be a kind little brother too, and let Freddie get in your cart if he wants to.”
“Yes, mother dear,” said Alf, and gave her one more strange little look and passed out of the room.
“Did you drink your port, Ellie?” the doctor said, glancing at the lunch-tray near her. His eyes were looking at her very tenderly.
Did she—did she know, or must he tell her in so many words?
“No, I didn’t,” she said; “it is foolish of you to get it—you know you can’t afford seven-and-six a bottle.”