“Not in the nude?” he ventured.
“Not quite, but almost!” she admitted, and they laughed again.
“But Erna, what made you say you guess your father and mother were strong? Don’t you know whether they were? Aren’t they alive?”
She looked at him suddenly, but his straightforward glance reassured her. She announced quietly: “I never saw my parents.”
“What?” he broke out. “Then how—but I beg your pardon, child. I didn’t mean to be inquisitive.”
“You’re not inquisitive,” she returned with unaccustomed seriousness. “Only—”
“I understand,” he interrupted. “Don’t speak of it! It’s too painful. Besides, we mustn’t be growing gloomy.”
Erna was meditative. She had never confided that part of her life to any one. It might be nice to unburden some of it. And Mr. Nielsen—he was so—She glanced at him.
“Please don’t!” he requested. “I’d much rather you wouldn’t.”
She smiled and said: “It isn’t so sad; it’s just kind o’ funny.”