“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Honest?”
“Honest. Good-night, old thing.” He hesitated. Then, his pity for her conquering his schoolboy code, he bent down and pecked awkwardly at her cheek.
Instantly he was drawn close, was half choked by little passionate, clinging arms.
“I’ll love you. Oh, I’ll love you!” cried Laura desperately.
CHAPTER VIII
Do you remember Topaz? Do you remember that ball of pride and red fur with the inscrutable eyes and erect tail and no heart at all as far as I was concerned?
Do you remember her slow, insolent porte, her airs of caste? How she lapped milk, delicately, dubiously, to oblige you, not herself? How she would sit in the fireside circle o’ nights, her paws doubled under her, discreet, unobtrusive, yet so obviously a visitor, that she made Father, who is a family man, feel uncomfortable? How she would edge in graceful reproof from the uninvited, stroking hand? With what silent savagery she fought you if you took her on your knee?