Sarah was Lady Kirton. Mr. Carr smiled.
"She has no children herself. I think you might be proud of your godson, Mr. Carr. But he ought not to have been here to receive you, for all that."
"I have come up soon to say good-bye, Lady Hartledon. In ten minutes I must be gone."
"In all this snow! What a night to travel in!"
"Necessity has no law. So, sir, you'd imprison my finger, would you!"
He had touched the child's hand, and in a moment it was clasped round his finger. Lady Hartledon laughed.
"Lady Kirton—the most superstitious woman in the world—would say that was an omen: you are destined to be his friend through life."
"As I will be," said the barrister, his tone more earnest than the occasion seemed to call for.
Lady Hartledon, with a graciousness she was little in the habit of showing to Mr. Carr, made room for him beside her, and he sat down. The baby lay on his back, his wide-open eyes looking upwards, good as gold.
"How quiet he is! How he stares!" reiterated the barrister, who did not understand much about babies, except for a shadowy idea that they lived in a state of crying for the first six months.