Part 39 (1/2)

”After Pitt,” said Septimus in the tone of a man who gives the obvious answer.

She halted for a moment, perplexed.

”Pitt?”

”Yes; the great statesman. He's going to be a member of Parliament, you know.”

”Oh,” said Zora, moving slowly on.

”His mother says it's after the lame donkey on the common. We used to call it William. He hasn't changed a bit since you left.”

”So the baby's full name is--” said Zora, ignoring the donkey.

”William Octavius Oldrieve Dix. It's so helpful to a child to have a good name.”

”I long to see him,” said Zora.

”He's in Paris just now.”

”Paris?” she echoed.

”Oh, he's not by himself, you know,” Septimus hastened to rea.s.sure her, lest she might think that the babe was alone among the temptations and dissipations of the gay city. ”His mother's there, too.”

She shook him by the coat-sleeve.

”What an exasperating thing you are! Why didn't you tell me? I could have broken my journey or at least asked them to meet me at the Gare du Nord.

But why aren't they in England?”

”I didn't bring them with me.”

She laughed again at his tone, suspecting nothing.

”You speak as if you had accidentally left them behind, like umbrellas. Did you?”

Turner came up, attended by a porter with the hand baggage.

”Are you going on to Nunsmere to-night, ma'am?”

”Why should you?” asked Septimus.

”I had intended to do so. But if mother is quite well, and Emmy and the baby are in Paris, and you yourself are here, I don't quite see the necessity.”

”It would be much nicer if you remained in London,” said he.

”Very well,” said Zora, ”we shall. We can put up at the Grosvenor Hotel here for the night. Where are you staying?”

Septimus murmured the name of his sedate club, where his dissolute morning appearance was still remembered against him.

”Go and change and come back and dine with me in an hour's time.”