CHAPTER VIII.
THE RECORD OF AN IMPOTENT GENIUS And whether you climb up the mountain or go down the hill to the valley, whether you journey to the end of the world or merely walk round your house, none but yourself shall you meet on the highway of fate .-- MAETERLINCK.
The door of the studio was slightly ajar, and the sound of a singularly sweet voice crooning out a lullaby was plainly audible.

Malcolm, who was about to knock, changed his mind and peeped in through the aperture; then he beckoned to Anna to do likewise.
It was certainly a pretty picture before them.

Verity was sitting in her low nursery chair, in the shadow of the heavy, ruby-coloured curtains, hushing her child to sleep, while her husband, at a little distance, stood before his easel; but she was so utterly transformed that Anna would not have known her.
She wore the dress of a Roman peasant; heavy gilt beads were clasped round her throat and fell over her white pleated chemisette, a gay-coloured scarf was arranged picturesquely on her head and gave warmth and colour to the small brown face.

On her lap lay Babs, open-eyed and rebellious, kicking up her bare little feet and humming baby fashion in pleased accompaniment.
"Oh, Amias," exclaimed Verity at last in a laughing voice, "what am I to do with this naughty girlie, who refuses to go to sleep and only laughs in her mother's face?
Oh, you darling, you darling!" and here Verity smothered the little one with kisses.
"Behold the stern parent!" observed Malcolm mockingly at this point.
"Verity, that rogue of a Babs is a match for you already.

Why don't you put her in her cot and order her to go to sleep, instead of crooning absurd ditties over her?
Oh, I thought so," severely, as Babs grasped her toes with her dimpled hands in the practised style of an acrobat, and gurgled defiantly in his face; "she is just exulting over her own victory as an emancipated daughter." "Babs takes after her great-grandmother," observed Amias cheerfully from the background; "it is the law of heredity, you see.