absorbingone of his wife's health.
After the child's birth he wrote a brief note to his father acquaintinghim with the news. He considered it his duty to do so, though heneither expected nor hoped for any reply to the letter; and he was notdisappointed; Mr St. John, Senior, might never have received it for allthe sign he made, and Jill, being ill and low-spirited at the time,cried with annoyance to think that her husband should have written tohim at all.
"He will only imagine that you want something out of him," she exclaimedpettishly.
"Never mind what he imagines," answered St. John, bending over thespeaker's couch, and touching the baby's smooth cheek with his finger."It needn't bother us so long as we are satisfied that we have done whatis right. You wouldn't like to think that one day this little man mightfail in his duty to _his_ father, would you?"
Jill looked down at the wee, mottled face, and laughed softly, thoughthe tears stood in her eyes still, and would not be blinked away.
"How absurd it seems," she said, "to think that this will one day be aman. It's so small and frail that I'm half afraid of it, Jack. Andit's dreadfully ugly too, isn't it, dear? Not even you could call itpretty."
"Never mind it's looks," St. John answered reassuringly. "They're allputty-faced at first, you know. If he only grows up with but half hismother's charm and goodness he'll do all right."
Jill laughed again; the extravagance of the compliment amused her.
"I hope he won't grow up with his mother's temper," she said, addingwith a mischievous look at St. John, "nor his father's either for thatmatter; I'd like him to strike out an original line there, Jack."
"Too late, I'm afraid," St. John answered ruefully as the baby screwedup its face preparatory to howling. "He always yells for nothing justwhen we're having a quiet chat."
Jill sat up a little and rocked the child gently in her arms.
"He is jealous," she explained; "he takes after you in that."
"I think the less _you_ say about it the better," he retorted. "Iremember some rather uncomfortable half hours spent on Evie's account."
She smiled, her face close pressed to the baby's, her lips caressingit's hair.
"How ridiculous it all seems now!" she exclaimed--"How small! What apair of geese we were!"
"Yes," he said, and he straightened himself and walked away to thewindow to hide the mortification in his eyes. His jealousy had been ofa far graver nature than hers, and he did not like to hear it referredto even. He was very much ashamed of himself, and rather embarrassed bya generosity that forgave so quickly and entirely as Jill had done.
"Yes," he repeated softly more to himself than her, "we were a pair ofgeese. How I wish we had found it out sooner than we did. What aninfinitude of suffering it might have saved us both!"
The next important event in their lives, which took place as soon asJill was well enough to walk to Church, was the baby's christening. Hewas called John after his father as the eldest sons of the St. John'shad been from time immemorial. It was Jill's wish that this should be,St. John, himself, having no idea on the subject. It was also Jill'swish that Mr Thompkins should stand Godfather, and, upon being asked,the senior partner gave a somewhat reluctant consent. He was apractical, hard-working old bachelor, and babies were not much in hisline, but he had an unbounded admiration and respect for this baby'smother, so when she informed him of her desire very much after themanner of one conferring an inestimable favour he had not the pluck northe cruelty to say her nay. The honour cost him a guinea in the shapeof a christening present, but the guinea weighed lightly in the balancecompared with the interest that he was expected to take in his Godson.Jill had a way of putting it in his arms, and watching him nurse itwhich not only embarrassed but annoyed him greatly; and sometimes St.John would come in and look on with a grin, observing the while that hewas quite a family man, or something equally idiotic.
St. John _was_ idiotic in those days. He thought so much of his uglyoffspring, as the infant's Godfather mentally called it, and spoilt asmany plates in attempting to photograph it as would have served for allthe babies that came to the studio in a year. Mr Thompkins groaned,but Jill laughed happily; this tiny link between herself and Jack seemedthe one thing necessary to make her life perfect. Its advent had closeda chapter in their history and commenced a new one altogether brighterand happier than the last. The last had known Evie Bolton, and Markham;but now the name of the one was seldom mentioned, the other never. Jillhad not seen Markham from the hour she sent him from her presence--neither had St. John--but a few days after the affair she had received aletter from him, just a short note of apology which ran as follows:--
"Dear Mrs St. John,--
"I cannot, I fear, convey to you my heartfelt sorrow at the indiscretionI was guilty of last Tuesday. I have been reproaching myself for myfolly ever since. The fault was mine, as is also the loss. I made amistake. Try to forgive me and to forget. I go abroad next weekindefinitely. Goodbye."
Jill offered it to her husband when she had finished reading, but St.John put her hand aside, and shook his head decisively.
"You know that that isn't necessary between you and me," he saidreproachfully.
"I think he would like you to see it," she answered.
He took it then and read it through; when he had done so he handed itback again with a grave half-troubled smile.
"Considering how I, myself, was mistaken," he said, "I don't think thatI have the right to censure him at all."
Jill tore the note up slowly, watching the fragments intently as theyfluttered from her fingers. The knowledge that her husband hadmisjudged her was the bitterest part of all. And yet in her heart shedid not blame him; she even found excuses for him, but the pain was nonethe less acute because she refused to admit its reason, though no doubtit was easier borne, and would be more readily forgotten.
"I am very much afraid," she said gently, with a slight hesitation oftone and manner, "that I, also, must have been at fault to cause two mento make the same mistake. I don't suppose that I have any right toblame him either. I think the wisest course would be to do as hesuggests--forgive everything, and forget."
And as St. John was of the same opinion the matter ended there, and ifnot entirely forgotten was at least never referred to between themagain.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
It was just two years after Jill's baby had been born that a verywonderful thing occurred; Mr St. John senior visited Thompkins and Co.for no less a purpose than calling upon his son's wife. He did not comeunexpectedly; he wrote a week beforehand apprising them of the fact, andduly on the appointed date he pushed open the outer door and entered themean little shop, standing in it, as it were, protestingly, his hat off,his shoulders slightly bowed; tall, and cross, and dignified--frowningat his son. St. John came forward quickly. He was expecting his fatherbut pride forbade his making any preparation. He had been in the studioduring the early part of the afternoon and was still in his workingclothes though Jill had suggested to him the propriety of changing, buthe had chosen to ignore the suggestion, arguing that that which was goodenough for his wife should be good enough for his father too; and so hecame forward as he was and stood in front of the visitor just as hemight have done had he been any ordinary customer. The old man's glancetravelled slowly from the strong face with its proud smile to the shabbysuit of clothes, the stains upon them testifying to the nature of thewearer's work, and his carelessness as an operator. As he looked hesmiled also. It was not a pleasant smile, and the younger man silentlyresented it.
"Photography does not appear a very lucrative employment," he observed.
"No," answered St. John. "At least I do not find it so."
"Ah! Well, no doubt that assists you to realise the mistake you made."
"I made no mistake," the other interrupted shortly. "If you refer to mymarriage that is the one thing I have never--and shall never regret."
"Yet it has been the means of reducing you to your present st
rait."
"Pardon me," retorted the younger man, "want of a profession, and not mymarriage, has been the means of my poverty. If I failed in my duty toyou as a son remember that you in the first place failed in your duty tome."
The grey brows drew together over the high-bridged nose, and the oldeyes glared angrily into the young, indignant ones.
"I brought you up to the profession of a gentleman," Mr St. Johnremarked.
"If by the `profession of a gentleman' you mean a dependent beggar--aparasite--a less than menial," rejoined the son, "you did. And until Imet Jill I was not man