"Sorry," Mr Ffolliot repeated, "of course not; why should you think I'm sorry?"
"Well, you see," said Ger, "it makes another of us."
Mr Ffolliot ignored this remark. He moved towards the door. At the door he paused; "You may," he said graciously, "go and see your little sister in an hour or two; mother said so."
As the door was closed behind him, Thirza sat down again with a sort of gasp. "Whatever did you mean, my dear, talking to Squire like that?" she demanded shrilly.
"Like what?" asked Ger.
"Sayin' as it wasn't your fault, and seemin' so down about it all. Why, you ought to be glad there's a dear little new baby, and you such an affectionate child an' all."
"It makes another of us," Ger persisted, and Thirza gave him up as an enigma.
In due time he went to the dressing-room off the big spare bedroom, and there sat the kind, comfortable lady he knew as "mother's nurse" (Ger had not seen her as often as the others, but still she came from time to time "just to see how they were all getting on," and he liked her). There she sat on a small rocking-chair with a bundle on her knee.
"Come, my darling, and see your little sister," she cried cheerfully.
Ger advanced. She opened the head flannel and displayed a small, dark head, and a red, puckered countenance.