“You were such a child then,—perhaps you did not notice.”
“No, no; he wasn’t the same. He was quieter; he didn’t speak in such a rough loud way. It isn’t like him. I think he must have had bad friends lately. O if only I were your child!” and she held me fast.
“I wish so too,” I said. “But I am sure we count you our child.”
“But father wants me, and he means to have me,” she said, a frightened look coming over her face. “He means it!”
“He seems in no hurry,” Cherry remarked.
“No, that is his way. He is never in a hurry. But he is set upon having me. Don’t you see it? Aunt Marion, must I go? I’m not his own child.”
“I suppose he is your natural guardian,” I said slowly. “If he really wished for you, I am not sure that we could refuse, or that we should be right to try.”
“To leave you and go to live with him! O Aunt Marion! It sounds dreadful. I would rather do anything. I’d almost rather—marry—Cress.”
“My dear child, if you cared for Cress, which you don’t, you could not marry for years. You are both far too young for even a serious engagement, and Cress has nothing to live upon.”
“No, I forgot that,” she said mournfully. “Then you think I must go, and there is no escape.”