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Her disapproval was obvious enough. Annabel entered. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. Wood dandled his little charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most effectually. Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gave her this impression. Don't worry about me. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent.
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