"You can't take him back and leave him there," said Clovis; "the
highway is meant for traffic, not to be used as a lumber-room for
disused miracles."
Rose-Marie wept. The proverb "Weep and you weep alone," broke
down as badly on application as most of its kind. Both babies
were wailing lugubriously, and the parent Momebys had scarcely
recovered from their earlier lachrymose condition. Clovis alone
maintained an unruffled cheerfulness.
"Must I keep him always?" asked Rose-Marie dolefully.
"Not always," said Clovis consolingly; "he can go into the Navy
when he's thirteen." Rose-Marie wept afresh.
"Of course," added Clovis, "there may be no end of a bother about
his birth certificate. You'll have to explain matters to the
Admiralty, and they're dreadfully hidebound."
It was rather a relief when a breathless nursemaid from the Villa
Charlottenburg over the way came running across the lawn to claim
little Percy, who had slipped out of the front gate and
disappeared like a twinkling from the high road.
And even then Clovis found it necessary to go in person to the
kitchen to make sure about the asparagus sauce.
WRATISLAV
The Gr?fin's two elder sons had made deplorable marriages.
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