“What reason? I must request you to tell me.”
“I overheard scraps of their conversation now and then in those meetings, and so gathered my information.”
“You told a different tale to me, Sir Francis,” was her remark, as she turned her indignant eyes toward him.
Sir Francis laughed.
“All stratagems are fair in love and war.”
She dared not immediately trust herself to reply, and a silence ensued. Sir Francis broke it, pointing with his left thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the cradle.
“What have you named that young article there?”
“The name which ought to have been his by inheritance—‘Francis Levison,’” was her icy answer.
“Let’s see—how old is he now?”
“He was born on the last day of August.”