"I hope she is going to get on now," I said, for I thought he wanted cheering.
Mr. Russell sighed again.
"And I would make her come this journey," he said, self-reproachful like. "If I had been content to stay at home as she wanted, she might have been all right now, and as merry as a grig."
Somehow I could not fancy Mary Russell exactly merry. It wasn't her way.
"You could not know beforehand what would happen," I said.
"Well, no, that's true," he said, and he brightened up. "Nobody can know beforehand what'll happen. That's true enough. It's a horrid thought that if she didn't get well— But after all, I'd got my reasons for coming away, just as much as she'd got her reasons for wanting to be at home. She needn't have been with me if she hadn't wanted. As you say, one can't tell beforehand how things are going to turn out. Kitty, you're a little comfort!" and he looked up at me, sitting on the bench still, while I stood on the path. "May I call you Kitty'—sometimes?"
I said, I shouldn't mind if he did. What else was I to say? Easy enough now to know how I ought to have answered, but not easy at the moment.
"Kitty, I wish I could have you for my little comfort always!" says he, fetching another sigh.
My cheeks got as red as fire, and I didn't say a word.
"I've never seen anybody like you," says he softly, looking at me again. "No, never! Kitty, do you know how pretty you are?"