"Yes, I'll go and write to the cousins," he said hurriedly, standing up.
And Mary Croft smiled faintly to herself, for she understood. He went out of the room, pausing by the way to bend over the child for one vehement kiss. After which he fled.
Ivy came forward, and stood beside the table, looking at her mother. She was such a dear little girl! No wonder her father and mother could hardly bear the thought of being parted from her. She held her head well up, like a small queen, and she had pretty plump fair arms, and soft velvety cheeks; and great billows of pale brown hair, which was shot with gold when the sun shone on it, rose over her forehead and fell curling all down her back; and her big thoughtful brown eyes were fixed wonderingly on Mrs. Croft's face.
When anything puzzled Ivy, she had a funny way of saying: "Why-because?"—pronouncing the two words in a soft, slow, questioning manner. Mr. Croft liked so much the way in which she did this, that he would not have her taught to speak differently. And that was how he had fallen into the habit of calling her, "Little Why-because."
Besides being so sweet to look at, Ivy was very sweet in character—a loving-hearted, gentle child—and indeed it was this which made her so sweet in face and manner. If she had been spoilt and ill-tempered and disagreeable and selfish, she might have been just as nice-looking a little girl in outward form, but everybody would not have loved her nearly so much. She would not have looked half so sweet and attractive. Nothing spoils the prettiest face like ill-temper.
As she stood by the table, she inquired—"Mummie, why-because is daddy crying?"
"Was daddy crying, darling?"
"I saw real live tears in his eyes, mummie." She meant that he was not merely pretending to cry, to amuse her, as sometimes he had done.
"He is sorry, pet, and so am I. We have to do something that we don't like to do, and it makes us sorry. And yet it has to be. Sometimes, you know, God tells us to do things that we would much rather not do."
"Why-because?"