“He’s a mighty fine fellow and no mistake—­but isn’t he rather an armful for you?” Moffatt asked, his eyes lingering with real kindliness on the child’s face.

“Oh, we haven’t far to go.  I’ll pick up a cab at the corner.”

“Well, let me carry him that far anyhow,” said Moffatt.

Undine was glad to be relieved of her burden, for she was unused to the child’s weight, and disliked to feel that her skirt was dragging on the pavement.  “Go to the gentleman, Pauly—­he’ll carry you better than mother,” she said.

The little boy’s first movement was one of recoil from the ruddy sharp-eyed countenance that was so unlike his father’s delicate face; but he was an obedient child, and after a moment’s hesitation he wound his arms trustfully about the red gentleman’s neck.

“That’s a good fellow—­sit tight and I’ll give you a ride,” Moffatt cried, hoisting the boy to his shoulder.

Paul was not used to being perched at such a height, and his nature was hospitable to new impressions.  “Oh, I like it up here—­you’re higher than father!” he exclaimed; and Moffatt hugged him with a laugh.

“It must feel mighty good to come uptown to a fellow like you in the evenings,” he said, addressing the child but looking at Undine, who also laughed a little.

“Oh, they’re a dreadful nuisance, you know; but Paul’s a very good boy.”

“I wonder if he knows what a friend I’ve been to him lately,” Moffatt went on, as they turned into Fifth Avenue.

Undine smiled:  she was glad he should have given her an opening.  “He shall be told as soon as he’s old enough to thank you.  I’m so glad you came to Ralph about that business.”

“Oh I gave him a leg up, and I guess he’s given me one too.  Queer the way things come round—­he’s fairly put me in the way of a fresh start.”

Their eyes met in a silence which Undine was the first to break.  “It’s been awfully nice of you to do what you’ve done—­right along.  And this last thing has made a lot of difference to us.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way.  I never wanted to be anything but ‘nice,’ as you call it.”  Moffatt paused a moment and then added:  “If you’re less scared of me than your father is I’d be glad to call round and see you once in a while.”

The quick blood rushed to her cheeks.  There was nothing challenging, demanding in his tone—­she guessed at once that if he made the request it was simply for the pleasure of being with her, and she liked the magnanimity implied.  Nevertheless she was not sorry to have to answer:  “Of course I’ll always be glad to see you—­only, as it happens, I’m just sailing for Europe.”

“For Europe?” The word brought Moffatt to a stand so abruptly that little Paul lurched on his shoulder.

“For Europe?” he repeated.  “Why, I thought you said the other evening you expected to stay on in town till July.  Didn’t you think of going to the Adirondacks?”