"I can't make him sing, darling," said Anne, who was making soft eyes at Peggy, and curling her mouth into the shape it took when it sent kisses to her across the room.
Instead of singing, Majendie, with his eyes on Anne, flung his arms round Peggy and lifted her up and covered her little face with kisses. The child lay across his knees with her head thrown back and her legs struggling, and laughed for terror and delight.
Anne spoke with some austerity. "Put her down, Walter; I don't care for all this hugging and kissing. It excites the child."
Peggy was put down. But when bed-time came she achieved an inimitable revenge. Anne had to pick her up from the floor to carry her to bed. At first Peggy refused to be carried; then she surrendered on conditions that brought the blood to her mother's face.
From her mother's arms Peggy's head hung down as she struggled to say good-night a second time to daddy. He rose, and for a moment he and Anne stood linked together by the body of their child.
And Peggy reiterated, "I'll be a good girl, mummy, if you'll kiss daddy."
Anne raised her face to his and closed her eyes, and Majendie felt her soft lips touch his forehead without parting.
That night, when he refused his supper, she looked up anxiously.
"Are you not well, Walter?"
"I've got a splitting headache."