“You are like him,” she said softly, and something in her voice made the words a thrilling tribute.
Then she added: “Yes, but he left you in comfort, and we—my mother and I—”
“Will you let me come to see your mother some time?”
Lena’s heart beat fast with mingled fear and hope, but all Dick saw was a startled and sweet surprise.
“I should be almost ashamed to have you come,” she said with a soft blush and a look of shy invitation. “We are so poor and we live in such a shabby place.”
“If your shabbiness comes because of your father’s sacrifice for his country it is something to be proud of,” Dick answered.
Through Lena’s mind there passed a swift memory of quarrels and bickerings, of daily smallnesses, which were her chief recollection of her father. She looked frankly up into Dick’s face.
“Yes,” she said. “That ought to make it easy to bear. Now I must not talk about myself any more. What did you tell me about that funny old book?”
“And I may come to see you and your mother?” Dick persisted.
“If you do not forget us to-morrow,”—Lena glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes in a way calculated to make him remember.