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Perhaps you could spend the night with me.—Wouldn’t you like that, Robin?’

He gazed up at her with his pure eyes. ‘But I can’t leave Mummy,’ he said.

A flush rose to Monica’s cheek. She felt herself rebuked. ‘Of course not,” she said. ‘Only till Daddy comes. He will fetch you.’

‘Won’t you come home with me?’ said Robin after a moment. ‘Won’t you come to the nursery and sit with me and wait for Mummy, too?’

‘No. I can’t do that!’ Monica exclaimed, to herself, rather than to the child. ‘You come with me till Daddy fetches you.’

‘Mummy wouldn’t like it,’ said Robin, still eyeing her; and as she looked down at his firm sad face she saw Clive in him; Clive’s strength. ‘She doesn’t like me to go unless she knows.’

‘But she told you to run away.’

‘She didn’t mean so far away. She meant the nursery. Perhaps she’ll be there now, Grannie. I think I'll go back and see.’

Little angel; little faithful, trusting angel; loyal like his father, and betrayed like him. What was there to do but yield to such innocence? She stooped and kissed his forehead. ‘Very well, darling; if you feel that. Yes; run home.’