For Cecile the big loving eyes grew pathetic, grew watchful,
grew anxious. When sitting very close to Maurice, apparently absorbed
in Maurice, he often rolled them softly round to the little girl.
Those eyes spoke volumes. They seemed to say, "You and I have the
care of this little baby boy. It is a great anxiety, a great
responsibility for us, but we are equal to the task. He is a dear
little fellow, but only a baby; you and I, Cecile, are his grown-up
protectors." Toby gamboled with Maurice, but with Cecile he never
attempted to play. His every movement, every glance, seemed to say
--"_We_ don't care for this nonsense, I only do it to amuse the
child."
On this particular morning Toby read at a glance the new anxiety in
Cecile's face. Instantly this anxiety was communicated to his own. He
hung his head, his eyes became clouded, and he looked quite an old
dog when he returned to Maurice's side.
When Maurice was dressed, Cecile conducted him as quietly as she
could down the stairs and out through the hall to the old-world and
deserted little court. The sun was shining here this morning. It was
a nice autumn morning, and the little court looked rather bright.
Maurice quite clapped his hands, and instantly began to run about and
called to Toby to gambol with him. Toby glanced at Cecile, who nodded
in reply, and then she ran upstairs to try and find some breakfast
which she could bring into the court for all three. She had to go
into the little sitting-room where her stepmother lay breathing loud
and hard, and with her eyes shut.
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