“He’d better go to bed,” said the father.
“Put him in my bed,” said George. “David would wonder what had happened.”
“Will you go to bed, Sam?” asked Emily, holding out her arms to him, and immediately startling him by the terrible gentleness of her persuasion. He retreated behind Lettie.
“Come along,” said the latter, and she quickly took him and undressed him. Then she picked him up, and his bare legs hung down in front of her. His head drooped drowsily on to her shoulder, against her neck.
She put down her face to touch the loose riot of his ruddy hair. She stood so, quiet, still and wistful, for a few moments; perhaps she was vaguely aware that the attitude was beautiful for her, and irresistibly appealing to George, who loved, above all in her, her delicate dignity of tenderness. Emily waited with the lighted candle for her some moments.
When she came down there was a softness about her.
“Now,” said I to myself, “if George asks her again he is wise.”
“He is asleep,” she said quietly.
“I’m thinking we might as well let him stop while we’re here, should we, George?” said the father. “Eh?”
“We’ll keep him here while we are here——”