"Some one else, I expect. That's all that children care for!" cried Sabina, springing to her feet. "He's got no heart!"
Turning her face suddenly, she saw that there had been a spectator of the little scene—a spectator at the sight of whom Sabina Meldreth turned deadly white. Miss Vane stood at the nursery door. She had been sitting there, and had heard Sabina's words and poor little Dick's innocent reply.
"You are wrong," she said gravely, with her eyes intent on Sabina's pale distorted face. "He has a heart—he is very loving and gentle. But you cannot expect him to love you when he does not know you. If ever he knew you better, he would—perhaps—love you more."
This speech, uttered quite gently and even pitifully, had a curious effect upon Sabina. She burst into tears, and turned away, hiding her face and sobbing as she went.
Enid stood for a moment in the doorway, holding the door-post by one hand, and sadly watching the retreating figure until it disappeared. Then Dick pulled at her dress.
"Cousin Enid, why does that woman cry? And why did she want to kiss me? Was she angry or sorry, or what?"
"Sorry, I think, dear," said Enid, as she went back to her seat.
She drew Dick upon her knee and caressed him tenderly for a few moments; but Dick felt, to his surprise, that the kisses she bestowed on him were mingled with tears.
"Cousin Enid, why do you cry too?"
But all she answered was—