Doctor Frank crossed the floor, and hoisted him up in a twinkling.
"Why, he's a splendid little fellow, Rose, and the very image of—What do you call him?"
"Reginald," Rose said, in a very subdued tone.
"Well, Master Reginald, you and I are going to be good friends, aren't we, and you're not going to cry?"
He hoisted him high in the air, and baby answered with a loud crow.
"That's right. Babies always take to me, Rose. You don't know how many dozens I have nursed in my time. But you don't ask me any questions about home. Aren't you curious to know how they all get on?"
"Papa is married, I suppose?" Rose said.
"Of course—last January. And Danton Hall was burnt down; and they have built up another twice as big and three times as handsome. And Mr. Richards—you remember the mysterious invalid, Rose?"
"Yes."
"Well, Mr. Richards turned out to be your brother Harry, who lived shut up there, because he thought he had committed a murder, some time before, in New York. And Agnes Darling—you have not forgotten Agnes Darling?"