“Ah! a little narrow, a little dogmatic, no doubt,” replied Challis. “I was going to propose that you might prefer to live at Pym.”
“Much farther for me,” muttered Stott. He had mixed with nobility on the cricket field, and was not overawed.
“No doubt; but you have other interests to consider, interests of far greater importance.” Challis shifted his gaze from the cradle, and looked Stott in the face. “I understand that Mrs. Stott does not care to take her child out in the village. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Ellen, to whom this question was addressed. “I don’t care to make an exhibition of ’im.”
“Quite right, quite right,” went on Challis, “but it is very necessary that the child should have air. I consider it very necessary, a matter of the first importance that the child should have air,” he repeated. His gaze had shifted back to the cradle again. The child lay with open eyes, staring up at the ceiling.
“Now, there is an excellent cottage at Pym which I will have put in repair for you at once,” continued Challis. “It is one of two together, but next door there are only old Metcalfe and his wife and daughter, who will give you no trouble. And really, Mrs. Stott,” he tore his regard from the cradle for a moment, “there is no reason in the world why you should fear the attention of your neighbours. Here, in Stoke, I admit, they have been under a complete misapprehension, but I fancy that there were special reasons for that. In Pym you will have few neighbours, and you need not, I’m sure, fear their criticism.”
“They got one idiot there, already,” Stott remarked somewhat sulkily.
“You surely do not regard your own child as likely to develop into an idiot, Stott!” Challis’s tone was one of rebuke.
Stott shifted in his chair and his eyes flickered uncertainly in the direction of the cradle. “Dr. O’Connell says ’twill,” he said.
“When did he see the child last?” asked Challis.