“A bird?” she asked irrelevantly.
“A canary.” Master Jack now stood directly before her. “He sings so much around noon-time, I bag him.”
“And don’t you like him to sing?”
“Of course not. He sounds too happy. Who are you, anyway?”
Dolores’ eyes filled with the wistfulness that always overflowed her heart at thought of her own lonely childhood—her super-sad little-girlhood.
“I am some one your mother has engaged to keep you company,” she told him. “I do hope we can make a go of it, Jack. I certainly should appreciate your friendship.”
“You’re not——” Suspicion stiffened his face. “Say, if you’re another governess——”
“I’d rather be,” she interrupted, “sort of a pal.”
“But you couldn’t play boy’s games. What’s your name?”
“Dolores Trent. Dolores means grief.”