A spasm of fury seized him, but it turned to self-reproach, and then again, quickly, it turned to simple thankfulness.
“That was clever of you,” said he mechanically as he had often been wont to say when he knew she expected praise.
“Yes, that was clever of me,” assented she, well-contented, “but I wanted to get ’ome quick. They said down there I ’adn’t got no Dad, they did. But I knew THAT weren’t true, so I come. And I didn’t stop on the way, neither—not to look at the sweets nor nothin’—’cos I wanted my Daddie, I did!”
She paused for an answer but none came—only the arm held her a little more firmly in her place.
So she added, shaking him a little as she had used to do: “But I wants my supper bad. I be very hungry, I be!”
“Pore little ’un!” murmured he, thinking of her face that was not so plump or so rosy as it once had been, and of her eyes that were more wistful: “Pore mite!”
“And we’ll go and buy sweets one day, Daddie, won’t we?” insisted she. “’Cos you promised, ye know.”
“Did I?” said he dreamily.
“O’ course you did!” she declared. “And folk must allers do what they promises.”
Again he did not reply, because, though he heard, his heart was too full to heed. This was why his arm had been sure that day when he had saved her from death.