All smiles, chuckles and amiability is Henry Fitzgeorge;
he is determined that all shall be well.
His birth was for a little time the sensation of the Square. Every one
knew the beautiful Duchess; they had seen her drive, they had seen her
walk, they had seen her in the picture-papers, at race-meetings and
coming away from fashionable weddings. The word went round day by day as
to his health; he was watched when he came out in his perambulator, and
there was gossip as to his appearance and behaviour.
"A jolly little fellow."
"Just like his father."
"Rather early to say that, isn't it?"
"Well, I don't know, got the same smile. His mother's rather languid."
"Beautiful woman, though."
"Oh, lovely!"
Upon a certain afternoon in March about four o'clock, there was quite a
gathering of persons in Henry Fitzgeorge's nursery. There was his
mother, with those two great friends of hers, Lady Emily Blanchard and
the Hon. Mrs. Vavasour; there was Her Grace's mother, Mrs. P. Tunster
(an enormously stout lady); there was Miss Helen Crasper, who was
staying in the house. These people were gathered at the end of the cot,
and they looked down upon Henry Fitzgeorge, and he lay upon his back,
gazed at them thoughtfully, and clenched and unclenched his fat hands.
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