“It has helped me––in more ways than one,” murmured Ashton.
“Glad to hear you say it!” responded Blake in hearty approval.
Ashton turned from him as Isobel appeared in the doorway, cuddling a lusty, rosy-cheeked baby. The mother hovered close behind her.
“Look at him!” jeered Blake with heavily feigned derision. “Did you ever see such a big, fat, lubberly––”
“Yes, look at him, Lafe,” said the girl, stepping out into the vestibule. “He is only a yearling, but isn’t he just the perfect image of his father?”
Ashton burst into a ringing laugh, but abruptly checked himself at sight of the sober face of the young mother. “I––I beg pardon!” he stammered. “I––she––Miss Knowles––that is what she told me to tell you about him.”
“And you didn’t play up worth a little bit, Lafe!” complained the girl.
It was Blake’s turn to laugh. “You––!” he accused. “Schemed to frame up a case on us did you!”
His wife smiled faintly, not altogether certain that an aspersion had not been cast upon her chuckling son.
“But it’s partly true, really,” remarked Ashton, peering at the baby’s big pale-blue eyes. 146