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A DOT AND A DIMPLE.
On the day Cyril Henshaw's twins were six months old, a momentous occurrence marked the date with a flaming red letter of remembrance; and it all began with a baby's smile.
Cyril, in quest of his wife at about ten o'clock that morning, and not finding her, pursued his search even to the nursery--a room he very seldom entered.

Cyril did not like to go into the nursery.

He felt ill at ease, and as if he were away from home--and Cyril was known to abhor being away from home since he was married.

Now that Marie had taken over the reins of government again, he had been obliged to see very little of those strange women and babies.