"He ought," said Robert, gravely, "for we've been good friends from the days when we were together at Eton. It isn't kind of George Talboys to treat me like this."
But even at the moment that he uttered the reproach a strange thrill of remorse shot through his heart.
"It isn't like him," he said, "it isn't like George Talboys."
Little Georgey caught at the sound. "That's my name," he said, "and my papa's name—the big gentleman's name."
"Yes, little Georgey, and your papa came last night and kissed you in your sleep. Do you remember?"
"No," said the boy, shaking his curly little head.
"You must have been very fast asleep, little Georgey, not to see poor papa."
The child did not answer, but presently, fixing his eyes upon Robert's face, he said abruptly:
"Where's the pretty lady?"
"What pretty lady?"