“That can be soon remedied,” said Lord Welbury, putting Charlie off his knee; “let the two youngsters romp together. I warrant they’ll make friends if let alone.”
And in order to try the experiment, we three sat apart and kept up some desultory talk. This lasted but a short time, however. It was broken in upon by a startled cry from the younger boy, Georgie, who, apparently terror stricken, rushed across the room.
“Naughty boy, naughty boy! Send him away. He’s making faces at me,” cried the spoilt child in an outburst of passion, pointing with outstretched finger at his little companion.
The nurse dropped her knitting, and rose instantly. “I have seen it from the first,” she said, calmly confronting us. “The child is half an idiot, my lord.”
All eyes were turned at poor Charlie, who stood among some broken toys, his features distorted into the ghastly semblance of a smile.
Mrs. Wilton, running to her boy, shielded him with her arms. “My darling, my darling! Has God no pity?” she cried, and bore him from the room. She had prayed day and night—this unhappy mother—to see either a smile on her baby’s lips or a tear in his eye, and hitherto her prayer had been denied. It was granted now. The poor dulled senses of the child, roused into something like activity by the antics of his little lively playfellow, had caused the lips to smile. But what a smile!
Lord Welbury turned pale. A look of disgust, not unmixed with anger, settled on his face.
“There is no doubt the boy is imbecile,” he said, as I was about to follow Mrs. Wilton from the room. “Dr. Gray, were you aware of this when you allowed him to be brought here?”
“I was not aware of it,” I replied readily. For the sad foreboding that first assailed me on the lawn at Croft House had received no confirmation hitherto. “But even if the case is as we fear,” I added earnestly, “it may be curable.”