Opposite his cot were some very wide windows, and three windows were
filled with galleons of cloud--fat, bolster, swelling vessels, white,
save where, in their curving sails, they had caught a faint radiance
from the hidden sun. In fine procession, against the blue, they passed
along. Very faint and muffled there came up from the Square the
lingering notes of "Robin Adair." This is a Wednesday afternoon, and it
is the lady with the black straw hat who is singing. The nursery has
white walls--it is filled with colour; the fire blazes with a yellow-red
gleam that rises and falls across the shining floor.
"I brought him a rattle, Jane, dear," said Mrs. Tunster, shaking in the
air a thing of coral and silver. "He's got several, of course, but I
guess you'll go a long way before you find anything cuter."
"It's too pretty," said Lady Emily.
"Too lovely," said the Hon. Mrs. Vavasour.
The Duchess looked down upon her son. "Isn't he old?" she said.
"Thousands of years. You'd think he was laughing at the lot of us."
Mrs. Tunster shook her head. "Now don't you go imagining things, Jane,
my dear.
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