I do not know whether Colonel Starbottle thoroughly appreciated the convincing proof of Tretherick’s unfaithfulness and malignity afforded by the damning evidence of the existence of Tretherick’s own child in his own house.  He was dimly aware, however, of some unforeseen obstacle to the perfect expression of the infinite longing of his own sentimental nature.  But, before he could say anything, Carry appeared on the landing above them, looking timidly, and yet half-critically, at the pair.

“That’s her,” said Mrs. Tretherick excitedly.  In her deepest emotions, in either verse or prose, she rose above a consideration of grammatical construction.

“Ah!” said the colonel, with a sudden assumption of parental affection and jocularity that was glaringly unreal and affected.  “Ah! pretty little girl, pretty little girl!  How do you do?  How are you?  You find yourself pretty well, do you, pretty little girl?” The colonel’s impulse also was to expand his chest and swing his cane, until it occurred to him that this action might be ineffective with a child of six or seven.  Carry, however, took no immediate notice of this advance, but further discomposed the chivalrous colonel by running quickly to Mrs. Tretherick and hiding herself, as if for protection, in the folds of her gown.  Nevertheless, the colonel was not vanquished.  Falling back into an attitude of respectful admiration, he pointed out a marvelous resemblance to the “Madonna and Child.”  Mrs. Tretherick simpered, but did not dislodge Carry as before.  There was an awkward pause for a moment; and then Mrs. Tretherick, motioning significantly to the child, said in a whisper:  “Go now.  Don’t come here again, but meet me tonight at the hotel.”  She extended her hand:  the colonel bent over it gallantly and, raising his hat, the next moment was gone.

“Do you think,” said Mrs. Tretherick with an embarrassed voice and a prodigious blush, looking down, and addressing the fiery curls just visible in the folds of her dress—­“do you think you will be ‘dood’ if I let you stay in here and sit with me?”

“And let me tall you Mamma?” queried Carry, looking up.

“And let you call me Mamma!” assented Mrs. Tretherick with an embarrassed laugh.

“Yeth,” said Carry promptly.

They entered the bedroom together.  Carry’s eye instantly caught sight of the trunk.

“Are you dowin’ away adain, Mamma?” she said with a quick nervous look, and a clutch at the woman’s dress.

“No-o,” said Mrs. Tretherick, looking out of the window.

“Only playing your dowin’ away,” suggested Carry with a laugh.  “Let me play too.”