He set her down with a laugh, a laugh with a note of surprise in it; her last words had sounded odd from a child. But Sophy's eyes were quite grave; she was probably recording the practical value of a kiss.
"You shall tell me whether you think the same about that in a few years' time," he said, laughing again.
"When I'm grown up?" she asked, with a slow, puzzled smile.
"Perhaps," said he, assuming gravity anew.
"And cook?" she asked, with a curiously interrogative air—anxious apparently to see what he, in his turn, would think of her destiny.
"Cook? You're going to be a cook?"
"The cook," she amended. "The cook at the Hall."
"I'll come and eat your dinners." He laughed, yet looked a trifle compassionate. Sophy's quick eyes tracked his feelings.
"You don't think it's nice to be a cook, either?" she asked.
"Oh yes, splendid! The cook's a sort of queen," said he.