Miss Abbott was equally civil, but not to be appeased by good intentions.  The child’s welfare was a sacred duty to her, not a matter of pride or even of sentiment.  By it alone, she felt, could she undo a little of the evil that she had permitted to come into the world.  To her imagination Monteriano had become a magic city of vice, beneath whose towers no person could grow up happy or pure.  Sawston, with its semi-detached houses and snobby schools, its book teas and bazaars, was certainly petty and dull; at times she found it even contemptible.  But it was not a place of sin, and at Sawston, either with the Herritons or with herself, the baby should grow up.

As soon as it was inevitable, Mrs. Herriton wrote a letter for Waters and Adamson to send to Gino—­the oddest letter; Philip saw a copy of it afterwards.  Its ostensible purpose was to complain of the picture postcards.  Right at the end, in a few nonchalant sentences, she offered to adopt the child, provided that Gino would undertake never to come near it, and would surrender some of Lilia’s money for its education.

“What do you think of it?” she asked her son.  “It would not do to let him know that we are anxious for it.”

“Certainly he will never suppose that.”

“But what effect will the letter have on him?”

“When he gets it he will do a sum.  If it is less expensive in the long run to part with a little money and to be clear of the baby, he will part with it.  If he would lose, he will adopt the tone of the loving father.”

“Dear, you’re shockingly cynical.”  After a pause she added, “How would the sum work out?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.  But if you wanted to ensure the baby being posted by return, you should have sent a little sum to him.  Oh, I’m not cynical—­at least I only go by what I know of him.  But I am weary of the whole show.  Weary of Italy.  Weary, weary, weary.  Sawston’s a kind, pitiful place, isn’t it?  I will go walk in it and seek comfort.”

He smiled as he spoke, for the sake of not appearing serious.  When he had left her she began to smile also.

It was to the Abbotts’ that he walked.  Mr. Abbott offered him tea, and Caroline, who was keeping up her Italian in the next room, came in to pour it out.  He told them that his mother had written to Signor Carella, and they both uttered fervent wishes for her success.

“Very fine of Mrs. Herriton, very fine indeed,” said Mr. Abbott, who, like every one else, knew nothing of his daughter’s exasperating behaviour.  “I’m afraid it will mean a lot of expense.  She will get nothing out of Italy without paying.”

“There are sure to be incidental expenses,” said Philip cautiously.  Then he turned to Miss Abbott and said, “Do you suppose we shall have difficulty with the man?”

“It depends,” she replied, with equal caution.

“From what you saw of him, should you conclude that he would make an affectionate parent?”