"'I am not making fun of you,' she said, as if afraid I should be offended at her."
I wondered how long I should have to wait, and while I was waiting, a little girl came out through a door.
She was nine years old then, and I never can forget that first sight of her. She had been dressing up for a game with her brothers, and a green silk scarf was twisted round her fair hair. It was such a merry rosy little face, all full of fun and laughter.
When she saw me she didn't turn grave. She came and stood in front of me, laughing still.
"I'm not making fun of you," she said, as if she was afraid I should be hurt. "Only we have had such a game, and they took me for a baboon. Wasn't that comical? As if a baboon could wear a scarf!"
Then a puzzled look came into her eyes.
"Oh, I thought you were somebody else," she said. "I thought it was nurse's niece. Do you want to see my father or mother?"
"I'm only Kitty Phrynne," I said, for I didn't know what else to reply.
"Kitty Phrynne!" says she. And such a look of pity and tenderness came as was wonderful in a child's face. She stopped laughing, and her eyes were grave in a moment. "Kitty Phrynne! Oh,—I know!"
The sort of sigh between those words! I don't know how it was, but I felt as if she understood.