“Yes—yes, I do.”
“You spoke like”—a sob—“like hating.”
“Not at all, not at all,” rejoined Mr. Evringham quickly, “but I was very much surprised, very.”
“Shall I take her upstairs, sir?” asked Mrs. Forbes, nearly bursting with the outrage of such an interruption to her employer's sacred dinner.
“No, she's going to sit right down in her chair and not make any trouble. Don't you like those roses I brought you, Jewel?” he added awkwardly, hoping to make a diversion. He was successful. She lowered her face, a fleeting April smile flitting over it.
“Did grandfather bring you those lovely roses?” asked Eloise.
Mr. Evringham flashed her his first glance of approval for so quickly taking the cue.
“Yes,” replied the child, her breath catching as she went back to her chair. “I seemed so sick when he went away this morning was the reason; so now I'm well again—they belong to everybody, don't they, grandpa?”
Mr. Evringham paused to consider a reply. He desired to be careful in public not to draw upon himself that small catapult.
“They belong to you still, Jewel. I never take back my presents,” he returned at last.