“Yes. Father had it done to send to people as a Christmas card.”
“But you must let me have one of these. Why, they are charming portraits. Do! Will you?”
“Certainly, if you care about it. Shall I post it to you?”
“Not for the world. They’d stamp it all over, perhaps right across the face.”
“Ah—ah!” mischievously. “Now you see why I don’t like them through the post. All these places are like portraits to me; they remind me of good times.”
“They must indeed,” said the other, thinking under what glowing circumstances this happy child’s life had been passed.
“Here’s one of Poogie. I had that done. Would you like it too? Come here, Poogie, and strike the same attitude, and let’s see if it’s good.”
“I should rather think I would like it,” answered Delia, who was stroking the beautiful little creature. And so the afternoon fled, for one of them only too quickly; and presently Haldane joined them, smoking a pipe, and they strolled about a little till it was time for the inevitable tea, and soon after for a homeward move.
“You must come and see us again, Miss Calmour, if you have not found it too slow,” Haldane said as they exchanged farewells.
“Slow! Why, Mr Haldane, I have never enjoyed myself so much in my life.”