Blake burst into a hilarious roar. But Mrs. Blake now beamed upon Ashton. “Then you, too, see the resemblance, Lafayette! Isn’t it wonderful, and he so young? His name is Thomas Herbert Vincent Leslie Blake.––Now, my dear, if you please, I shall take him in. We must be preparing to start, if it is so long a drive.”
“Do let me hold him until you and Mr. Blake are ready,” begged the girl.
“I am not quite sure that––You will be careful not to drop him? He is tremendously strong, and he squirms,” dubiously assented the fond mother. “Come, Tom. We must not keep Miss Knowles waiting.”
Blake disappeared with her into the luxuriously furnished car.
“Isn’t he a dear?” cooed the girl, clasping the baby to her bosom and kissing his chubby clenched hands. He stared up into her glowing face with his round light-blue eyes. “Thomas Blake!––Tom Blake!” she whispered.
Ashton did not heed the words. He was gazing too intently at the girl and the child. His eyes glistened with a wonderment and longing so exquisitely intense that it was like a pain. The girl sank down in one of the cane chairs and laid the baby on his back. He kicked and gurgled, seized one of his upraised feet 147 and thrust a pink big toe in between his white milk teeth.
“That’s more than you can do, Lafe!” challenged the girl.
She glanced up, dimpling with merriment,––met the adoration in his eyes, and looked down, blushing. He attempted to speak, but the words choked into an incoherent sound like a sob. He jumped from the car and hurried to take the lines from the porter.