“Old man, are you the gardener?”

The sky being so blanketed with cloud, although the shutters were open only a faint gray light filled the room.  It was the first day that she had been well enough to have it done; but now the bed in which Georgiana lay was spread with the most beautiful draperies of white; the pillows were rich with needle-work and lace, and for the first time she had put on the badge of her new dignity, a little white cap of ribbons and lace, the long wide streamers of which, edged with lace, lay out upon the counterpane like bauds of the most delicate frost.  The fingers of one hand rested lightly on the child beside her, as though she were counting the pulse of its oncoming life.  Out in the yard the lilies of the valley, slipping out of their cool sheaths of green leaves, were not more white, more fresh.  And surely Georgiana’s gayety is the unconquerable gayety of the world, the youthfulness of youth immortal.

I went over to her with the strange new awe I feel at my union with the young mother, where hitherto there has but been a union with the woman I love.  She stretched out her hands to me, almost hidden under the lace of her sleeves, and drew my face down against hers, as she said in my ear,

“Now you are the old Adam!”

When she released me, she bent over the child and added, reproachfully,

“You haven’t paid the least attention to the baby yet.”

“I haven’t noticed that the baby has bestowed the least attention upon me.  He is the youngest.”

“He is the guest of the house!  It is your duty to speak to him first.”

“He doesn’t act like a guest in my house.  He behaves as though he owned it.  I’m nobody since he arrived—­not even his body-servant.”

Georgiana, who was still bending over the child, glanced up with a look of confidential, whimsical distress.

“How could anything so old be born so young!”

“He will look younger as he gets older,” I replied.  “And he will not be the first bachelor to do that.  At present this youngster is an invaluable human document in too large an envelope; that’s all.”

Georgiana, with a swift, protecting movement, leaned nearer to the child, and spoke to him: 

“It’s your house; tell him to leave the room for his impertinence.”

“He may have the house, since it’s his,” I replied.  “But there is one thing I’ll not stand; if he ever comes between me and you, he’ll have to go; I’ll present him to Mrs. Walters.”

I was not aware of the expression with which I stood looking down upon my son, but Georgiana must have noticed it.

“And what if he supplants me some day?” she asked, suddenly serious, and with an old fear reviving.

“Oh, Georgiana!” I cried, kneeling by the bedside and putting my arms around her, “you know that as long as we are in this world I am your lover.”

“No longer?” she whispered, drawing me closer.