Never was there such a wonderful baby, and never was there such a fuss made over it.  Unprejudiced persons might have called it an ugly, weakly little thing; indeed, at first there were such apprehensions of its dying that it had been baptized in a great hurry, “Henry Leaf Ascott,” according to the mother’s desire, which in her critical position nobody dared to thwart.  Even at the end of fourteen days the “son and heir” was still a puling, sickly, yellow-faced baby.  But to the mother it was every thing.

From the moment she heard its first cry Mrs. Ascott’s whole nature seemed to undergo a change.  Her very eyes—­those cold blue eyes of Miss Selina’s—­took a depth and tenderness whenever she turned to look at the little bundle that lay beside her.  She never wearied of touching the tiny hands and feet, and wondering at them, and showing—­to every one of the household who was favored with a sight of it—­“my baby,” as if it had been a miracle of the universe.  She was so unutterably happy and proud.

Elizabeth, too, seemed not a little proud of the baby.  To her arms it had first been committed; she had stood by at its first washing and dressing, and had scarcely left it or her mistress since.  Nurse, a very grand personage, had been a little jealous of her at first, but soon grew condescending, and made great use of her in the sick room, alleging that such an exceedingly sensible young person, so quiet and steady, was almost as good as a middle-aged married woman.  Indeed, she once asked Elizabeth if she was a widow, since she looked as if she had “seen trouble:”  and was very much surprised to learn she was single and only twenty-three years old.

Nobody else took any notice of her.  Even Miss Hilary was so engrossed by her excitement and delight over the baby that she only observed, “Elizabeth, you look rather worn-out; this has been a trying time for you.”  And Elizabeth had just answered, “Yes"-no more.

During the fortnight she had seen nothing of Tom.  He had written her a short note or two, and the cook told her he had been to the kitchen door several times asking for her, but being answered that she was with her mistress up stairs, had gone away.

“In the sulks, most like, though he didn’t look it.  He’s a pleasant spoken young man and I’m sure I wish you luck with him,” said Cookie, who, like all the other servants, was now exceedingly civil to Elizabeth.

Her star had risen; she was considered in the household a most fortunate woman.  It was shortly understood that nurse—­majestic nurse, had spoken so highly of her, that at the month’s end the baby was to be given entirely into her charge, with, of course, an almost fabulous amount of wages.

“Unless,” said Mrs. Ascott, when this proposition was made, suddenly recurring to the fact which seemed hitherto to have quite slipped from her mind—­“unless you are still willing to get married, and think you would be happier married.  In that case I won’t hinder you.  But it would be such a comfort to me to keep you a little longer.”