He was doing things with a strip of paper and a paste brush.
“Here, hold this down, will you? No, not there, that’s not pasted yet—where it’s curling. What were you saying?”
“You wouldn’t say I didn’t count, would you?” she revised it. “I do come next to your mother, don’t I?” And then, quickly, “What is it—scissors?”
“No, the knife, the black handle. Yes, of course you count. What’s the matter? Why not?” And then, as the subject dawned on him—“My dear child, as if one made lists of that sort of thing and marked people off!”
She laughed.
“I do. Shall I tell you my list?”
He did not answer. That was his way of rebuking vanity.
She turned from him, disheartened. So silly of her to expect to get anything out of Justin. But she was not at the door before he called to her pleasantly enough—
“I say, hold this again, will you, please? I’m all gummy.”
She came back, and for half an hour sat beside him in silence, listening to his breathing, watching his intent face, helping him when she could. And as she sat thus, all he had meant to her since her childhood came overwhelmingly into her mind. She was flooded with strange thoughts.