She bent forward to him, his hand was outstretched. His eyes went up
and, meeting hers, instantly the chain was forgotten. That recognition
that they had given him before was there now.
With a scramble and a lurch, desperate, heedless in its risks, he was in
his mother's lap. Then he crowed. He crowed for all the world to hear
because now, at last, he had become its citizen.
Was there not then, from some one, disregarded and forgotten at that
moment, a sigh, lighter than the air itself, half-ironic, half-wistful
regret?
CHAPTER II
ERNEST HENRY
I
Young Ernest Henry Wilberforce, who had only yesterday achieved his
second birthday, watched, with a speculative eye, his nurse. He was
seated on the floor with his back to the high window that was flaming
now with the light of the dying sun; his nurse was by the fire, her
head, shadowed huge and fantastic on the wall, nodded and nodded and
nodded. Ernest Henry was, in figure, stocky and square, with a head
round, hard, and covered with yellow curls; rather light and cold blue
eyes and a chin of no mean degree were further possessions.
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