“My dear Dora!”
“You won’t think what I am going to say, unreasonable, after what you told me, such a little while ago, of Mr. Wickfield’s not being well? I want to see Agnes. Very much I want to see her.”
“I will write to her, my dear.”
“Will you?”
“Directly.”
“What a good, kind boy! Doady, take me on your arm. Indeed, my dear, it’s not a whim. It’s not a foolish fancy. I want, very much indeed, to see her!”
“I am certain of it. I have only to tell her so, and she is sure to come.”
“You are very lonely when you go down stairs, now?” Dora whispers, with her arm about my neck.
“How can I be otherwise, my own love, when I see your empty chair?”
“My empty chair!” She clings to me for a little while, in silence. “And you really miss me, Doady?” looking up, and brightly smiling. “Even poor, giddy, stupid me?”