"Come upstairs and see if Violet's awake," she suggested. "He's a beautiful boy."
I found my cousin in a darkened room, leaning back on her pillows, weak-voiced but radiant. She pointed one hand to the far side of the bed, where a nurse stood with a new-born child in her arms.
"James Alexander Erskine Claverhouse-Moray," she whispered. "Poor mite! it isn't fair on him. Jim wouldn't miss any of them out, though."
"If I'm to be one of his godfathers, I shan't allow it," I said. "He shall be Sandy, plain and unadorned. How are you feeling, Vi?"
"So tired, George!" she answered, with a sigh. "I oughtn't to be seeing you, but I want you to do something for me. Will you"—she paused, as though the effort of speaking hurt her—"will you tell Jim you've seen Sandy—plain and unadorned?"
I bent down and kissed her forehead. "Seen him and approved of him," I said. "I'll write to-night."
"Oh, send him a wire."
"I'll wire," I said. "Good night, Violet."
She had dropped asleep before I reached the door. As I walked downstairs, Lady Loring came out of the drawing-room and stood waiting for me by the stairhead. Her round face was as placid as ever, but her eyes were restless.
"Amy has told me everything," she said.