“I never saw the child I loved yet,” said the old bachelor, somewhat incredulously, “and I do not think I ever shall.”
Notwithstanding this speech, however, Mr. Stewart had been secretly touched by Miss Baldwin’s description of mother and child, which description caused him to form a mental picture of Mrs. Dudley that did not exactly frame in the setting Arthur now provided for her.
“Is this fellow such a weak fool as to be envious of his wife,” thought the director; “or is there really some flaw in his pearl of which the little world of South Kemms is not cognisant?” Mr. Stewart could not understand his companion’s domestic relations, so he thought he would try him on another tack—his children.
“I heard something, when I was at Kemms Park, about your little girl having met with an accident,” he began.
“Yes, she fell into that mill-pond at the bottom of my farm, and was nearly drowned,” Arthur replied, shortly.
“She has been very ill since that, though, has she not?” asked Mr. Stewart, who was beginning to think his visitor carried his ideas of politeness a little too far.
“Very ill; but she is now out of danger.”
“Do you think of bringing her up to town?”
“That will be a question for her mother to decide.”
“Was there ever such a prig before!” thought the director; but he said out loud, “Then you take nothing to do with such minor matters?”