"We shall go on up to the Park," I said to the child; for I had some fear that Roderick might come straight to my hotel.
Winifred made no answer, and we took the car to Fifty-ninth Street, where we got out and were soon strolling through the broad alleys, thronged with carriages; or the quieter footpaths of that splendid Central Park, justly the pride of New Yorkers.
"Why are you afraid of that gentleman?" Winifred asked me in her abrupt fashion as I led her by a secluded path to show her a statue of Auld Lang Syne which had always appealed to me.
"I am not afraid of him, dear."
"But why are you trembling, and why did you run away?" she asked again.
"Because it was time for us to go. I still have much to show you."
"I like that gentleman," she said.
"Do you?" I cried impulsively. "I am so glad! Go on liking him just as much as ever you can."
She did not seem so much surprised at this statement and at my apparent inconsistency as a grown person would have been; but she went on:
"Only I thought it was rather rude of him to question me like that."