“Odd how pretty that baby talk sounds from a woman’s lips!” he said musingly. “I’ve always thought it so silly. But after hearing that handsome woman use it—by Jove!—I begin to see there’s some meaning in it after all!”
“She’s certainly handsome,” said Repton, “very handsome. And handsome inside and out, mind. The way she looked at that child showed the sort of woman she was—motherly, domestic, safe. By-the-bye, Bayre, there’s your ideal ready to hand, my boy!—gentle, placid, slow-moving, possibly not too quick-witted, and handsome besides. What could you wish for more?”
But before Bayre could reply, Southerley struck in, with some irritation,—
“What’s it got to do with him? He’s too much taken up with Miss Eden to have any thoughts to spare for anybody else. I suppose he doesn’t intend to monopolise all the women in the world!”
“I don’t know that I’ve monopolised so much as one yet,” said Bayre, meekly, from his corner.
He had thrown himself back in a chair away from the others, and was looking thoughtful.
“What’s the matter, Bayre?” asked Repton.
“I’ve got an idea.”
“Bless me! You don’t say so. What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going,” said Bayre, rising slowly from his chair with the same grave look on his face, “to put it into words, and to put those words into a letter. Good-night, you fellows!”