The "make haste" applied to eating the grapes, which Master Georgy was already accomplishing with tolerable speed. Mrs. St. John, her arm round him, held the plate on his little knees; the other hand was still wandering amidst his hair. A charming picture! The child's generally bright complexion looked very bright today; the fair skin white as snow, the cheeks a lovely rose colour. It might have been taken for paint; and the thought seemed to strike Mrs. St. John.
"If he could only sell that," she said to her husband, as she pointed to the bloom; "how many women there are who would give a fortune for it!"
"I would rather see him like Benja, though," was the prompt and prosaic answer. "That rose-red has been found a fatal sign before now in the St. Johns of Alnwick."
"You have it yourself," said Mrs. St. John.
"Something like it, I believe."
"Then, how can you say it is fatal? You--you--don't mean anything, surely, George?"
George St. John laughed out merrily; a reassuring laugh.
"Not as to him, at least, Charlotte, He is a healthy little fellow--as I hope and believe."
Georgy made an end of the grapes, and, by way of finale, tossed the plate up. Mrs. St. John caught it, so there was no damage done. Putting him down, he ran up to his papa, eager to see whether there was anything else on the table, either to eat or to play with. His mamma took his hand, and was rewarded with a cry and a stamp.
"You have been writing to Isaac St. John?" she exclaimed, her eyes falling on the letter that lay there. "Do you correspond with him?"